Battlestar Invictus
by CALiGeR190
Summary: Battlestar Invictus: flagship of the colonial fleet. In a desperate bid to escape destruction at the hands of an old enemy, the ship finds itself lost out in a place unknown to the colonials... and horrors they could scarcely imagine lurk in the twisted galaxy they have been dropped into.
1. First Contact

++DISCLAIMER++

This is a joint project between myself and Ghostrider, who does not have a account. I have full permission to use and edit this work from my co-writer, as I helped to create it. It does feature a few edits from the original, which can be viewed over on the Battlefleet Gothic:Armada forum 'Lore and Stories' section.

Without further a do, Let the story begin!

Chapter 1

With a great flash the 3 kilometer long vessel appeared out of nowhere. It's bow could remind some of an alligator head. On the dorsal hull many large cannons mounted on turrets were coming out of their support nests and started to rotate around, looking for a now non-existent enemy. A few small fighters emerged from the external flight pods on both the port and starboard side and started a patrol.

Some parts of the hull were smoking from what appears to be a recent ship-to-ship battle.

Slowly and gracefully it slid forward through the void. For an outsider it might look as if not much was happening.

But inside the massive ship this was certainly not the case.

Inside the ship's Combat Information Center, CIC, the activity was comparable to a beehive.

Officers and operators were walking around talking to their peers while simultaneously talking into the comm horns dotted around the room.

'Report!'

'Weapons online and ready, light damage only. Propulsion is online. Medium damage to the inner port engine.'

'Flight deck reports minimal losses. 6 planes lost and 20 more damaged, 3 severely. All launch tubes are operational, minimal damage to the flight pods.'

'DRADIS sensors are clear sir. No sign of pursuing Cylons. There is an asteroid field on our present course.'

'Very well. Navigation?'

'The Navigation computer is making no sense sir. It can't find any known constellations out here. Until I get some reliable data out of this, I have no clue where we are.'

Frack, just what he needed. Jumping straight into the unknown ending up who knows where, he knew this was a risk. Commander John Price had just ordered a blind FTL jump to escape an incoming fleet of Cylon basestars. He was not one to run away from a fight, but taking on twelve basestars in a single battlestar was suicide.

The past two weeks were an absolute nightmare. Just before he could get his ship in space dock for an upgrade, the enemy attacked.

Out of nowhere basestars jumped in from all around and hammering the fleet and the nearby colony with nukes.

For some reason all the defences went offline the moment those damned toasters arrived. By now he knew why.

The damn Command Navigation Program upgrade in fleet use was faulty.

Through a backdoor in the software the cylons hacked every fleet computer and caused chaos.

Ships powering down just before a fight, or turning their weapons against one another, blowing each other to pieces while the crew stood helpless.

It was a massacre, thank the gods his ship didn't have those upgrades.

As soon as he realised what the CNP did, he ordered his crew to break any computer networks present on his ship.

He remembered the stories of his old time friend and First Cylon War veteran, William Adama, and acted on his advice to break the computer networks.

It gave him an edge, but an edge is not worth much when faced against twelve Basestars launching every fighter and missile they had at his ship.

The Battlestar Invictus was a powerful ship. It could take on multiple basestars at once, but _twelve_? That, Price and his ship could not do.

And now he was here, wherever 'here' was. Probably way beyond the red line, uncharted territory.

The only thing he could do now was get his ship back in order and move from there.

However the relative calm would be short lived.

'DRADIS Contact, bearing 090 carum 24, this suckers big!'

'Identify! Operator Hoshi'

'No transponders, no recognition codes. Could be the cylons, sir.'

Again? This was not a good day.

'Commander, I am getting a transmission from those ships. You might wanna hear this.'

'Put them on speaker Specialist Trask.'

The comms specialist flipped a few switches to tie the comm signal to the built in speakers in the CIC.

What the men heard then was disconcerting to say the least.

' **Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill** '

The single word brutally chanted over the comm echoed through the room. Whatever anyone was doing, they weren't now, just listening to the maddening chant, trying to figure out what it was.

'Cut the transmission Trask, I don't want to hear that chanting here anymore. Hoshi, what is the contact doing?'

'They are coming about. Looks like an intercept course with us.' The chanting made the young operator nervous. He seemed to peer in his scope more focused than ever, but the tension within him was clearly visible.

'Multiple smaller contacts are coming from the first! They are launching strike Craft! 92 strikers closing, bearing 090 Carum 21'

Again into the fray.

'Action stations!' Price ordered grimly. 'Weapons grid to full power. Enemy suppression fire, all batteries execute.'

Within seconds the entire broadside of the battlestar opened fire on the incoming strike craft.

Half of the 40 massive double barrel rail cannons started blasting 200CM projectiles into the void, exploding as enormous Flak in the middle of the formation.

Anything not directly hit by the shell itself was at least damaged by the thick cloud of shrapnel flying about. The Flak was so thick one could walk on it.

At the same time numerous small calibre minigun point defence guns across the entire hull and flight pod opened fire. Each gun firing over a hundred rounds a second in the same direction.

Any spacecraft not torn apart by the large calibre Flak would be now.

Within thirty seconds, a third of the enemy strike force was taken out, and they weren't even in their weapons range yet. The surviving craft started to turn and find another approach.

'Hoshi here sir. We've established a perimeter!'

'launch Vipers!' Almost immediately, at least forty Viper space superiority fighters shot out of the side of the Invictus Flight Pod, on the way to intercept.

'Signal Vipers, take out those raiders, leave the big ship to us. And redirect battery three through eight to fire on the largest contact while you're at it. Switch them to Armour Piercing!' Outside the ship a true furball was enveloping the space between the invictus and the blood red dagger-shaped vessel. Swift Death fighters and Hell talons fighting a viscous melee with Viper Mk IIs and VIIs.

Vipers were dancing around the red strike craft: blowing holes in them and tearing off wings, avoiding incoming fire as much as they where able. They where firing what seemed to be like... lasers? The Vipers quite determined to destroy these craft without too great a loss. This was evidently, however, easier said than done. And it appeared their new enemy was more advanced than they were, they where certainly larger, probably about double the size of a Viper. Despite this, the first few cannon shots didn't even seem to hit, even though they were spot on target.

At the same time the Great red dagger who had just launched the strike craft started to fire their two massive dorsal turrets towards the battlestar.

Not long after, the shots started impacting, everyone inside the battlestar was thrown to the ground by the sudden impacts.

Commander Price just managed to crawl to his feet when he was thrown to his plotting table by another series of impacts.

He hoped the thick armour of his ship could take this punishment. The armour of his ship was thicker than your regular Mercury Class, but these impacts were harder than anything he ever encountered. He needed to end this soon. Parts of the hull beginning to buckle and small armour plates drifting away into the void, shattered and burned.

'Bring us about and switch all main batteries to AP! Get in as close as you can! Ahead full!'

The Flak barrier started to ease up It's savage retort against the strike craft, and instead large solid armour piercing shells started flying through the same paths towards the mystery capital ship.

Not exploding, but silently gliding through the void at extreme speeds until they reached the red dagger.

The first few salvoes didn't seem to hit, stopped by some sort of energy barrier, but many many more shots where piling in behind the first salvo.

It seemed that the sheer volume of fire coming from the Invictus overloaded the barrier eventually and shots started impacting the hull.

It didn't take long for the Invictus' batteries to chew through the armour of its enemy, especially now Invictus was had closed in so rapidly.

The Invictus started to slide under the enemy ships belly, where the daggers main cannons could not hit and the armour was thinnest.

At least, that was what Price hoped. His Gamble paid off, signifcantly less dangerous looking fire from, he could only assume where secondaries, firng at him from the belly of the great red capital ship. The enemy captain evidently fully aware of this, and endeavouring to turn the ship over.

Not waiting for the ship to get its weapons on target, Invictus rolled over and fired its full borudside into the belly of the enemy ship. Piercing the light armor and blowing holes in key systems.

The exposition was quite impressive, the whole top side of the ship detonating in a great flash and orange, blue and red flames. Invictus turning its batteries to support the fight against strike craft.

Within minutes following that, the remaining strike craft broke and fled. The had cost Invictus a gun few PD weapons and 6 Vipers.

Suddenly, the dagger was accelerating away and not long after, an enormous hazy purple eye opening up in front of it.

As soon as the eye appeared it was gone, taking the crippled Crimson capital ship away without a trace.

'Recover all vipers and stand down to condition two, and get me damage reports from all sections! Let's get out of here before more of those ships arrive.'

 _Price_ he thought to himself. _Price where have you lead us to this time?_

 **Reviews are very welcome!**


	2. Dark Days

Chapter 2

It was a month after the incident with the mystery Red dagger. The Invictus had since positioned itself within a debris field orbiting a white dwarf, making the ship hard to detect. Even more so when the ship had minimal systems operating. Hiding in this field was now the only option open to Commander Price. Although he didn't like it, hiding here has given him the ideal opportunity to gain critical Intel of his position and the forces fighting for power in this region of space.

Turned out, the entire field consisted of destroyed or abandoned ships. There were ships which looked more like flying cathedrals than anything else. A bit further away from them, more dagger shaped ships of various sizes were floating around. Probably a leftover from a long forgotten war, but now a goldmine for others looking for pickings.

Price ordered search teams to board the floating husks and look for Intel. The Dagger shaped ships were a no-go. One team got too close to one, developing blurred vision and getting sick without an apparent cause. That left the floating cathedrals, or what was left of them, to be searched.

The CIC was Always the center of activity. Surveillance screens were beeping everywhere and many of its operators were talking and tapping consoles, trying to analyse the data coming from the sensors.

It was during the end of his shift that the ship's XO walked up to the commander.

"Commander Price, got a minute?"

"Sure Howard, what've you got for me?" Colonel Mark Howard was a tough man, a bit shorter than Price, but much more bulk in muscle. Always straight in uniform standing tall he was an intimidating sight to anyone around. A true image of authority. He was a long time friend of the Commander and served together for years. So when the time came for Price to take command and chose an XO, the choice wasn't hard to make.

"We've got some results from one of the search parties that boarded one of those Cathedral ships, one of the smaller ones, clocked in around 1500 meters for total length. They have found what appears to be recognition charts. The language is unclear, some kind of encryption, and needs to be decrypted before we can read it, but if the scale and size of these charts are correct, then we are not the biggest fish in the sea."

"What do you mean?"

"Most of the ships here in this field are between just under one km in length, two kilometers at most. But a handful here seem to be broken up from significantly larger vessels, and they're not even the largest."

"That may become a problem"

"Indeed, the largest ship here seems to be around 5 kilometers in length. The biggest on the chart Clocks in at around eight to twelve kilometers. That's FOUR times our size, and we're the largest in the fleet!"

"I know John, and they are significantly more powerful than anything we can field if that 'red dagger incident' was anything to go by." There was a pause while Price grimly considered those implications of those larger ships. "What have we found out about them?"

"Mostly armed with railguns, same as us, but with a much higher calibre. Others seem to be armed with laser based weapons,to what some eggheads suggested to be added as a fleet upgrade, but these are far more advanced. These flying Cathedrals have one thing in common and that is a heavily armored bow, shaped like a wedge, possibly for ramming. These ships seem to be extremely durable, some even have power left. Sergeant Horvath got one hell of a scare when an automated defence turret pointed at him and started clicking. Lucky for him the thing was empty."

"Impressive. What about those red dagger ships? Any intel about them?"

"Very little, a few recognition charts, but they're very limited without decryption. We did find some navigational star charts. I've given the order to run them through the computers. Lets hope they can decypher whatever code they're in."

"Lets hope they bring something good. Once decryption is done have our navigators examine them. Maybe we can get a fix on our position. Any Intel on the faction?"

"Those ships seem to belong to the Imperium Hominis, whatever that may be. Horvath found some corpses floating around in there. They appear to be human, only not as we are used to. Some have tech sticking out of their body, whatever purpose that may serve. Initial analysis says that these 'Imperials' are fighting those dagger ships refered to as 'Chaos'."

"Good to know we're not alone. If we encounter more of these 'Chaos' ships, or gods forbid, one of the more powerful ships in that chart we may need to look to these 'Imperium' guys."

"Well, whatever they may be, they sure have a strange obsession with skulls. They're just about everywhere on those ships, from doors to consoles."

"Lets hope that is the strangest thing about them." He said as he turned to the DRADIS station. "Operator, any movement out there ?"

"Nothing on scope for the moment sir." The Young man replied. "We did have a faint contact on the edge of the system an hour ago. Observers describe it as a giant fish with a big tailfin and guns all over. It was moving around as though is was trying to sneak up someone before it left the system."

"Very well, keep me informed."

That was one of the so many varied ships that have come through this system. Seems this system is in the middle of some transit route. It's a good thing that they had been recording every bit of sensor data they could get on these ships for analysis. It may help to identify their opponent in future encounters.

"XO, how long is this decryption of those star-charts going to take?" Before Price finished his sentence, Howard had already picked up the Phone and connected to the proper section before relaying the question. "It has a low encryption so it should be done by tonight. With any luck we'll have an idea where we are in the morning. Our message cracker says that if this files encryption level was higher he would have a hard time decoding them. He seems impressed with the code."

"We had luck this time then. Lets hope our luck holds out till tomorrow and no one comes sniffing around before then. Keep the ship silent and continue passive scans of the area. Keep low-power active scans to a minimum, we don't want to attract attention. I'll be in my readyroom."

"Aye sir, I'll let you know once we find anything of interest." His trusty friend replied.

And with those words Price walked off and left the CIC. His opinion of the area he found himself in became more dark with every report he got. Lost, far away from the home that got destroyed, he has the strongest ship in the fleet that isn't even the largest or most powerful ship in this new region which didn't really give a warm welcome. He had beaten the odds before and was sure as hell intend on doing the same thing again. Only this time it would be harder, much harder. After several turns and bulkheads Price entered his ready-room, closed the hatch behind him, unbuttoned his collar and sat down on his leather-clad seat behind his wooden desk, all covered in reports.

He reached down into one of the drawers and grabbed a small glass and a small bottle of whiskey. He poured a bit of the drink in his glass and slowly took a sip at it, just to relax a bit and let the events of the past several weeks sink in. Gods know how many drinks like this he had with Howard, or that old man Adama. The thought of it alone cracked a little smile on his face. It didn't last long however, this situation didn't warrant a smile. After finishing the glass he stood up from his seat, walked to the fold-down bed mounted at the wall and fell dead asleep in it without as much as pulling off his jacket. His last thought before he closed his eyes was that of hope, hope that his boys could translate that map so they might get away from this terrible place.

 **This Chapters mainly aimed at continuing introductions, developing some character and such. Next one will be larger and you'll see action in it, I promise!**

 **In the mean time, please leave a review! It helps me and Ghostrider greatly.**


	3. Trial by Fire

Chapter 3

It took the crew a few hours longer than expected to decrypt the salvaged star-charts, but now at least they'd have a tool to work with. Verification with visible constellations wasn't really difficult once the map was readable. It seems that his ship jumped into a well-travelled area, a place called the 'Fire Fall', whatever that may be. The system they were currently in was nothing but a relay identified by a series of numbers, Relay 571, nothing significant. What was significant was the huge amount of space this Imperium Hominis seemed to have. The Twelve Colonies were barely a speck on this map by scale! At least now they knew the Imperium was vast and very powerful. Now it was up to him to figure out the next step. What now? The answer to that question would come sooner than he thought…

"CONN-DRADIS, I've got a bogey bearing 305 carum 04."

"Identify"

"Unknown contact sir, whatever it is, The vessel is HUGE! The power signature is off the charts." "Keep me informed, XO, thoughts?"

"Observation reports a similar configuration as we've seen in this system. The charts verify it. Big engines in the rear, long and narrow body, rear wings, wedge prow. They're probably Imperials."

"Mark this contact as Cathedral one, and edge us closer to the edge of the debris field. Start making calculations for an emergency jump. If this guy decides to shoot we can't trade blows with him."

In the meantime, aboard the Imperial vessel, Admiral Julius Lahain aboard his battleship was trying to get his crew back in order. While en route back to Port Maw his ship was attacked by Chaos forces, and now he had lost his escorts. They were destroyed one by one by the Chaos menace, which left him alone and on the run. His navigator managed to pull the immense battleship into the warp in time. For about a week, or so it seemed, they had traveled through the illogical immaterium to reach Relay 571. The last stop before the next jump to more friendly lines.

With a big jolt, and at the same time a soothing transition the SkyWatcher left the immaterium and entered Realspace on the edge of Relay system 571, a safe distance away from the debris field orbiting the white dwarf. His old mentor talked about the battle waged here two centuries ago in the hunt for Pl _agueClaw_. Now all that was left of the glorious ships who defended the Imperium were chunks of debris, a shame, the ships of those diseased captains would have been immensely useful to him mere hours ago.

The time spent in the Warp enabled the Enginseer crew of the SkyWatcher to conduct some repairs, but they were still vulnerable.

"Shipmaster, what is the status of our repairs?"

"Admiral, our lance batteries are operational, our macro-broadsides still have problems with the resupply gear. A large portion of our turbo lasers and missile banks are still offline, and we have around two-thirds of our carrier-craft left operational, we are highly vulnerable to attacks from smaller craft and ordanace strikes without fighter screens or effective PD. The rest of the ship seems either destroyed or damaged beyond repair. The Emperor truly smiles upon us for us to still be alive."

"Indeed. The damage was to be expected. What is the status of our engines?"

"I've spoken with the tech priests. Plasma-engine three and six have sustained damage, but are for the most part operational. If they deteriorate we may have to shut them down to prevent a reactor explosion or warp-drive collapse."

"That will cost us a third of our power! The cog-heads in Port Maw are gonna love this."

Suddenly the young lieutenant observing the Auspex Array called out:

"Admiral, new warp rifts are opening! They are Chaos ships, six of them on an intercept course! Looks like elements of the large fleet that nearly had us at relay 401!"

"Bring the ship to alert status!" He ordered while grabbing the ships vox. "All hands to Battlestations!"

Before long the entire bridge was sounding with orders: "Secure all hatches and bulkheads, all gun crews to their pieces!" "Engineseers: charge the lance capacitors! Standby damage control teams!"

"Lieutenant, can you identify the classes? What are we facing exactly?" Lahain asked while the young lieutenant frantically tried to keep a clear picture with the damaged systems he had.

"One Hellbringer light cruiser, two Idolators, and three infidels."

Normally Lahain would laugh at such a pitiful force, but his cirppled battleship could barely hold off a single escort squdron as it stood. _The Chaos commander seems to be well aware of this_ Lahain though grimly to himself "Very well, focus your efforts on the closest ship. Lets try to thin their numbers before they get to close. Bring the ship about! We'll give them the best broadside we have left!"

"Admiral" Number two called out "We can't keep those ships at bay forever"

"I know throne-Damnit! But we sure as hell are not gonna sit around and do nothing! Emperor will it, we will fight back or die trying, now open fire!"

The massive ship began to launch it's strike craft while the Fury Interceptors raced out of the hangar bays to take up defensive positions, the ship's massive lance batteries reaching out and blasted at the incoming chaos ships. At about the same time the chaos fleet assumed a solid attack formation, the Idolators opening up with their prow lances, the infidels blasting away with their weapons batteries and launching torpedoes while the Hellbringer launched her attack-craft and fired her main guns.

"Emperor help us now…" The admiral muttered to himself.

"Admiral, New contact coming out of the debris field!"

Lahian turned around sharply to face the Auspex console: "What, more Chaos usurpers?" _This day just gets better and better!_ Lahain now thoroughly irritated by how utterly he was being defeated by these unworthy traitors.

"I don't know sir" the young man called, "I've never seen this configuration before, the Cogitators don't recognise its silhouette either, maybe a local system vessel? We're receiving a signal from them!"

"Show me!"

++++Transmission incoming++++

++++Frequency unknown++++

-Calibrating-

++++Complete+++

++++Compiling message++++

++++Message reads:++++

Battlestar Invictus to Imperial Vessel:

Do not, Repeat, Do not fire on us!

We intend to aid in fending off the Chaos ships.

Please acknowledge on same frequency.

++++Message ends++++

++++Transmission ended++++

It took him a few seconds to realise what he was reading. An unknown vessel just popping up here and was claiming to want to help them… _This is almost too good to be true_ Lahain stopped himself, _This **IS** too good to be true_.

But then again, with the state his vessel was in currently… He didn't really have a choice. It was either risk losing the ship by taking an unknown in his ranks, or risking it alone with even lower odds.

"Get a passive weapons lock on that ship, if it tries anything we'll blow it to dust!" He barked at his staff before turning to his comms-officer: "Connect the ships dycryption-cogitator with the vox and hail that vessel, let's see what their claims are worth."

It was barely thirty seconds after he had sent the message that the commander of the Invictus was alerted by his Comms-specialist. "Sir, the imperial ship is answering. The captain demands to speak with you."

"Put him on the horn. This is Invictus Actual, go ahead Imperial vessel." Price called out in his horn.

A stern mechanical voice sounded from the other side: "This is Admiral Lahain of the Battleship SkyWatcher, I don't know how you got into our space, or who you are, but for the moment I don't care. You claim to help us, correct?"

"Indeed Admiral. Let us close formation and take some of this fire away from you."

"Do as you must, but try anything funny and we'll blow you to dust like the others!"

"Understood SkyWatcher. You take the big boys, we'll take the smaller ones." With these words he hung up the phone.

"Friendly fellow" Howard remarked.

"We'd give a similar answer in his shoes. XO bring the ship about. Let's see what our bow batteries can do to the hull of those standoff ships. Load the Super-density shells!"

Gracefully the lumbering Battlestar turned her bow toward the closest Idolator Lance escort and began blasting both dorsal cannons and fixed bow cannons at her target. The massive super-density shells erupted silently from their barrels and whistled toward their targets with enormous speed. At the same time the first eighty fighters shot out of their launch tubes and took defensive positions around the Battlestar, soon to be followed by their comrades being loaded into the now-empty launch tubes.

It took a few seconds for the first shells to reach their target, before impacting the energy barrier surrounding the little ship. This was soon followed by a double lance blast originating from the SkyWatcher which put severe stress on the corrupted Void Shield generator, nearly shattering it outright with the savage power of the blows. Regardless of the punishment the Idolator took, it kept firing on the huge Imperial vessel.

Together with the combined barrage of its sister ships, the chaos vessels started to put a serious strain on the SkyWatcher. Its lone remaining layer of Void shielding struggling to keep up with the volume of fire being levelled against it

Inside the massive ship, gun crews were scrambling around their stations trying to reload their damaged cannons and aiming their massive, ancient pieces of super heavy mass-driver artillery. Enginseers and their work gangs worked with fanatical zeal to try and keep the capacitors for the all-powerful lance batteries full, while at the same time preventing the damaged key systems from overloading. Higher up the chain officers were directing crew members, bellowing orders and inspiring the men that served below them. Meanwhile on the command deck the admiral and his staff had their hands full directing the battle. Watching from his pict-screen on his command-throne Admiral LaHain watched with near amazement at the ferocity and the sheer volume of fire that the little so-called battlestar spewed out at his closest Idolator. He did not expect this from an Non-Imperial ship of that size and with such a low power signature.

"Gunnery officer, the Invictus is in perfect position to blow holes into Idolator two. Give him a hand with those shields, will you? Turn the dorsal lances on them as well. Let's see what the little bugger can do to an un-shielded ship."

"As you wish Admiral" the experienced officer called: "Redirect dorsal battery two and four to bearing 034, depression 013. Shield dispersion fire, Execute!"

The moment the Gunnery-officer gave the word, two massive six-barrelled turrets rotated to the given direction and unleashed two massive pillars of light and energy at the Idolaters dangerously depleted shields, shattering them like a plate hit by a bullet. The Idolator hiding behind them having its superstructure scorched black and the majority of it's traitorous crew blinded.

"Commander, the energy signature is gone. The barrier seems to have disappeared!" the young sensor operator on Invictus cried out.

"Okay gentlemen, this is our chance. Weapons, switch to full AP loads! XO, instruct strike-vipers to launch their anti-ship missiles at the largest energy signatures they can find on that ship. Helm, bring us underneath, give them the full dorsal barrage!"

As soon as Commander Price gave the word the orders were carried out with skill and determination. Huge solid shells began filling the space between the two clashing ships, moments before impacting the weak armour of the red menace.

Strike-vipers of Invictus launched their armour piercing Anti-Ship missiles at any significant energy signature they could find. The missiles exploded within, wreaking havoc at weapons, breaching plasma-lines, damaging engines and disrupting communication lines throughout the ship.

A final salvo from Invictus in the rear section disabled the stricken frigate, rendering it stearless, burning. The first ship out of the fight.

The chaos ships, before now not seeing Invictus as a real threat, began seriously returning fire. Two Infidel raiders broke off their attack runs on the SkyWatcher and began turning towards the Invictus and her unfortunate prey.

"XO, they've realized we mean business. We need to combine our batteries with the Imperials, and start aiding them with repelling small craft as well. There isn't much flak coming from that big hulk. Bring us underneath that ship and extend our FLAK barrier around her."

"Roger that sir. Sir, our strike-vipers have called Winchester. They need to land and re-arm"

"Very well, recall the strikers. Launch the reserve strikers while the others re-arm. And prepare viper group three and four, the others will be out of ammo soon."

The two incoming raiders set up in a staggered formation and commenced a head-on pass with Invictus. Invictus turned with them and helped close the distance, at the same time closing in with SkyWatcher.

"Radiological alarm!" suddenly sounded in the CIC, "the raiders have launched five, say again, five missiles at us commander! Those buggers are huge!"

"Fighters, Intercept and disperse, Flak barrier to full auto, pitch negative thirty and all ahead flank! Take her down! Now! Now! Now!"

Immediately the few closest fighters scrambled to take out the big missiles headed towards their mothership. At the same time the Flak barrier of Invictus densed up immediately. Both fighters and Flak managed to take out four missiles before they could hit. But the fifth did slip through…

A massive explosion blinded everyone looking in the general direction of Invictus. Everyone inside the ship was thrown to the ground. For the second time in this area, commander Price was thrown on top of his plotting table.

The damage seemed mild at first, radiation remained within norms. Most of the energy was directed outwards as the missile exploded on impact, while the thick Battlestar Armour kept most of the hard stuff out. But soon, more damage would become clear, a viscous-looking blackened scar venting the ship's innards into the void.

"Viper 61 – Invictus, come in. You've got violent decompressions all along the port flight pod. Invictus do you read?" Came through the radio.

On the forward section of the port Flight Pod a fire was raging while violently spreading along the pod. On the damage-control stations red lights began blinking, indicating the fires. XO Howard had to take charge of this damage control party from the CIC.

"Port section, Report" he called through his horn. He was answered by a frightened greenhorn of a crewman. "The officers are dead, sir! Fires are everywhere and the suppression system is out! Sir we need help!"

No suppression system. Frack! Without that system they couldn't get the fire out in time. If the fires reached the hangars it would ignite the fuel lines and they would lose the ship! Only one option left…

"Crewman, get into your emergency gear" he said before switching to shipwide intercom: "Attention all hands, seal off all sections front of bulkhead 25. Prepare for emergency vent action."

He put the horn down and inserted the vent-key in the hole and initiated the vent.

In all the sections with, and close to the fire, huge armoured vents rotated opened and let all the air inside escape, extinguishing the fire. The few crew members not braced for vent action were sucked away into the void. Seconds after vent completion the red blinkers stopped and switched off. Another danger overcome…

All while this was taking place, the Battlestar had slid underneath the two red raiders. Any gun capable of shooting did what it could to pepper the crimson hulls of its opponents. The infidel raiders did the same thing. As soon as they could, red laser blasts and missiles streaked out and began raking the ship.

From stem to stern, every part of the three kilometre long ship was hit by some degree. By the time both Infidels passed Invictus, they had already inflicted heavy damage to one of its engines, rendering it inoperable. The lead Infidel had paid the price for that damage however, with a direct hit to his port batteries, causing a violent explosion within the red ship itself, ripping the whole port side of the ship wide open to the unforgiving space waiting outside.

While the battle between the three ships waged, the remaining four chaos vessels continued to pound the now un-shielded SkyWatcher, which was now threatened with strike craft coming from the distant hellbringer. Seeing the intent of the battlestar commander, Admiral Lahain ordered his ship to take position slightly above his newfound ally, seeking to increase the effectiveness of both ships point defence weapons while at the same time taking on the enemy cruiser. Strikecraft, from both ships, danced around the massive hulks while intercepting ordnance and enemy strike craft, Fury Interceptors fighting a viscous and merciless war of their own with the Chaos fighters.

Through this cloud of activity came blasts of macro cannon and Lance fire from both factions, all trying to blast the other into oblivion.

Just after taking out the second Idolator, a Macro shell glancing along the belly of the ship and gutting the little escort, Skywatcher turned her batteries toward the carrier Hellbringer, and started blasting away. Great pillars of blinding white-blue light and mighty shells the size of skyscrapers roaring out to shatter the Chaos ship and send it to oblivion. The void-shields of the red ship couldn't take the fire long, and soon it's shields began to collapse. The now vulnerable cruiser started turning away, seeking shelter to recharge her shields. SkyWatcher was too slow to follow. She gave the fleeing cruiser a few parting shots before seeking another target: the remaining Infidel would do quite nicely. The battleship unleashing its full and undivided fury on the much smaller ship, virtually vaporising it within minutes.

The battle waged on for about another 45 minutes before the chaos light cruiser finally had enough and retreated back into the warp. SkyWatcher had lost what was left of engine three and six, together with a third of her original speed. Lahain counted himself lucky that the ship's warp-engines where still untouched. Her main batteries did sustain a few hits after the void shield finally collapsed against the Light cruiser, but nothing critical. Her strike fleet however was reduced to about half her strength, that would pose a problem should they be attacked again… Although the Imperial pilots could at least draw solace from the fact that not one Chaos strike craft returned to their mother ship.

In this fight, helping that imperial vessel, the Invictus had taken a lot of hits. Most of the hard stuff had been kept out by her armour, but still she had lost an engine. Two main turrets were damaged and had to be retracted manually. Multiple Vipers were lost or damaged. How extensive the damage was would become clear when they put into dry-dock somewhere. How many crew where dead or had sustained wounds was not yet clear. Price hoped that at the very least the complete casualty list would come in soon, and that it be a short list. The Imperial emperor in his flying cathedral better be grateful for this! At least the ship's FTL drive was still online.

A little while after the battle had ended, the commanding officers of both ships were again on the horn:

"This is Admiral Julius Nephos Lahain aboard the SkyWatcher, calling the commanding officer of the Invictus, come in Invictus." The line on the other side began to crack to life:

"Go ahead Admiral, I read you loud and clear."

"You and your ship have fought valiantly Commander, and I am supremely grateful for your coming to our aid. I still don't know what you are doing in our sector, or who you are, but that can come later. The Imperial Navy could sure use a ship like yours in our fleet in our eternal struggle against the Chaos Menace. What say you?"

"We've been attacked by them the moment we arrived here. We sure could use an ally."

"If you are interested in becoming our ally, you could escort my ship back to Port Maw. I am sure that after the service you've done for us the PortMaster will provide for your ships repair, should you have sustained any damage."

"We sure would appreciate that Admiral"

"Very well. I will have my crew send you the coordinates, please verify on the same channel."

"Understood, Looking forward to meeting you in person."

"Likewise Commander. LaHain out." And with those words the connection was broken.

When he looked up, Price caught the eye of his XO.

"Do you think we've got the right man, John?"

"I don't know Mark, I just hope we do. It will be one heck of a short war for us if we don't."

On the imperial battleship, Admiral Lahain sat back in his command-throne and let his crew do their work while he started to wonder.

After a few short moments, his trusted second-in-command, Lord-lieutenant Bracco Gambell, walked up to him.

"Thinking of the new escort, sir?"

"There is potential in this encounter, Bracco. The commander seems to know how to use his ship, even against an unknown adversary. But why help a stranger? Why is he here? Who even is he? Is he genuine and requires an ally, if so, against whom… Or are there other motivations in play? Whatever the answers to these questions may be, the addition of this small but surprisingly powerful carrier craft may prove very useful in coming battles. If this is to be however, steps may have to be taken to increase its damage resistance."

"I guess we'll find out once we reach Port Maw."

"Indeed we will."


	4. Inspection

Chapter 4

Traveling to Port Maw took just under a week of traveling. Both ships kept traveling in Convoy for security reasons, but because they were now well within Imperium controlled space, it wasn't really necessary. Aside from a single skirmish with a possible lost red escort the journey itself wasn't very eventful. With three days to go, the little group met up with a couple of frigates. It seemed that the SkyWatcher had sent word of their arrival. This group was some kind of Honor guard or something like that. It didn't matter what it was called, the crew on board both ships were happy with two extra ships flying alongside them.

At last the small convoy entered the system on the outer edge. Slowly the group slid towards the massive spaceport, while the small escort ships broke off and took position on the systems outskirts.

Docking in massive spaceport took a bit longer than usual. Not because it was harder, or busier than the battlestar crew was used to. This was done by choice. Most people were in awe of how big the spaceport was! The Scorpio spacedocks were big but this, this blew the other completely out of the water! Ships larger than anyone had ever seen were flying to and from the massive station, while smaller craft were buzzing about. Every now and again someone had to be snapped out of their awe. Partly because of this, Price had ordered the ship to basically crawl towards their spot, where they docked without issue.

In anticipation of the evaluation/inspection the ship was to be subject to, Price had ordered that no man was to leave the ship without his express permission. The evaluation was due this morning, so the crew got to work on repairing any damage they couldn't fix when on mission. It was not clear when exactly when the inspection came, or with how many would be attending. Just to be on the safe side he had ordered all critical systems to be guarded by a small detachment of marines.

He himself had, like his officers in time of war, holstered his trusty Five-Seven pistol to his waist. Price didn't expect trouble, but when dealing with an unknown caution is golden. For this occasion he had dusted off his dress uniform. Dark gray, with a leather belt and sash, the latter carrying his few Pilot's Elite Wings and the few medals he was awarded. His uniform was lined with red and gold piping along the edges, signifying his rank. His XO Colonel Howard's piping was red and silver in colour.

Fifteen minutes ago he got the call that the evaluation envoy was to arrive. Right on time there came the call on the other side.

After double checking the docking seal and pressure, the large steel doors slid open. In the walkway, much wider than the invictus-airlock was, four men appeared flanked by a squad of soldiers. The imperial officers wore a bright blue uniform jacket while the trousers were white. Most men present were highly decorated. By comparison his own dress uniform looked pale and plain.

The lead man, who seemed to be in good shape, although a bit of stress was giving him a few grey hairs, was the most decorated, but managed to display his achievements with style. The officer beside him, also decorated, displayed his medals proudly, while looking towards the colonials with arrogance. It was clear that sitting behind a desk didn't do him much good.

The third man, standing to the right was the least decorated, but only slightly. The fourth and final character standing at the door was dressed in a rust-coloured robe. He was the most peculiar of the set with all sorts of technology sticking out of him. Price could not help but wonder if he was looking at a man or a machine.

After a few seconds the lead officer walked up to the threshold of the airlock but stopped just short. At the same moment, men on both sides saluted each other, the Imperials with the sign of the Aquila and the colonials with their hands straight to the hairline.

Then the man spoke: "I am Lord-Admiral Cornelius von Ravensburg. I am in command of the Battlefleet in the Gothic Sector. You have already met Admiral Julius Lahain" He said while gesturing to the man standing on his right, who nodded slightly before adding: "We've met before commander, the battle of Relay 571. I thank you again for coming to the aid of me and my men."

Both men approached the threshold and shook hands.

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Admiral."

"Standing on my left are Admiral Kraego Caligarus" Ravensburg continued. The plump officer to his left looked a bit down, to raise his head again, "and Fabricator Cambrios, he manages this Spacestation." The mechanical man made a slight bow towards both colonials.

"Gentlemen, I am Commander John Price, commander of the 92th BattleGroup and the Battlestar Invictus. Standing beside me is my second in command, Colonel Mark Howard" who nodded upon the mentioning of his name. I welcome you aboard my vessel. Before you enter however, I understand your need for a security team, but I must insist on them leaving their assault weapons behind." he nodded at the bulky looking rifles the soldiers were carrying. "Enough accidents have happened when someone got jumpy. You may keep your sidearms."

The soldiers gave questioning looks to their superiors, but after an approving nod, they left behind their rifles with one of their comrades before stepping through the airlock.

The group moved down the Invictus' corridors with Ravensburg and Price at the lead. "The reports provided by Admiral Lahain about the skirmish of Relay 571 were quite impressive. You could start with a rundown on your ship's capabilities, particularly your carrier and self-defence capabilities."

"The Invictus is capable of launching 80 Viper space superiority fighters within seconds"

"That sounds highly unlikely" said Admiral Caligarus

"You will see for yourself momentarily Admiral. What I've seen so far is that your strike craft are fairly large. Ours are small by comparison, this allows us to quickly launch and recover our fighters. Loading the launch tubes takes only a couple of minutes. Once the fighters are in, it takes only a few seconds to launch them. The ship can carry about 600 vipers, including their strike variant and 45 raptor shuttles."

Moments later the group moved through the bulkhead-hatch leading to the port hangar deck. The deck stretched for hundreds of meters, each set containing at least a dozen fighters ready to go. Modern grey painted Mk7 Vipers stood along their older red and white coloured brethren, some positioned just before the launch-tube doors, while others stood in maintenance nests. Crews were working hard servicing and repairing the fighters from past battles and malfunctions, while pilots talked with their ground-crews. The vipers themselves are less than ten meters in length, while their strike variants were just over twelve meters long.

"These are your all powerful Vipers? These puny craft? Pathetic" the plump Admiral spewed.

"They're not so pathetic when over eighty of them are racing towards you, mate!" Flight Lieutenant Thatch said while tapping his Fighter "Each of these babies launching eight 50 megaton nukes at your face is a pretty scary sight don't ya think?"

The sole notion made Admiral Caligarus mad, but seeing the smiling face of the pilot who had the audacity to talk like that made him red in rage.

Price could see Lahain making a half-attempt at suppressing a smile on his face. Ravensburg held a straight face, not letting it betray his thoughts.

"It does sound impressive. Was that the armament used during the Relay battle?"

"No mister Lahain, we used conventional warheads. We use nuclear warheads only when necessary."

"Still it is impressive considering their limited size."

"Continue Commander" Ravensburg added

"Our vipers are fast and highly manoeuvrable, able to turn on a dime and launch up to eight anti-fighter or anti-ship missiles. This includes Nuclear devices. Strike vipers carry up to 12 heavy missiles, intended to destroy or disable enemy subsystems. These ships are Nuclear missile capable, same as their fighter counterpart. We have 45 shuttlecraft able to carry marine strike teams.

As far as defenses go, we rely mainly on fighters, Triple-A, FLAK and our armour should ECM fail."

"How capable is your defence battery?"

"We can put up a FLAK screen thick enough to walk on. But it can't take up everything."

"Seems reasonable. What can you tell us about your main batteries?"

"The ship possesses over 40 turrets with two 250CM Rail cannons each, capable of firing anti-ship AP/HE shells and FLAK. In the bow we have six Higher-Calibre Railcannons capable of firing superdensity shells to take out heavy armour. Enough to tear through those red escorts at the relay."

"It is an impressive amount of firepower you can field for a ship this size. Which brings me to the following subject." Ravensburg paused for a bit and took a very serious tone. "What is a ship of these capabilities doing here, in this sector? I do not recall any people of your faction being present in the Gothic Sector, Commander."

"That is a good question Mister Ravensburg. Sufficive to say, we were attacked by enemy forces, the Cylons."

"I have never heard of these Cylons."

"I am not surprised Admiral. The Cylons are machines, our own creations. A long time ago they became intelligent, they rebelled and a bloody war was fought, lasting for over a decade. An armistice was declared and the cylons retreated in deep space. We didn't hear from them for over forty years. Until about a month ago… The Cylons broke the armistice and nuked our planets. They had infiltrated our defence networks and many of our ships, powering them down or turning them against us. We were lucky to survive. I had to risk a blind FTL jump or lose the ship. That is how we ended up in this sector. From the moment we entered this region of space we've been under attack by those red ships you call Chaos. Not knowing where we were or who was out there I decided to retreat into an uninhabited system for intel. That is where we met the SkyWatcher in battle. The rest is history."

"A wise decision, considering your position, but it doesn't answer why you chose to aid Admiral Lahain in his battle."

"Listening to the chanting that our 'welcoming committee' gave us was maddening. No one should suffer their attacks."

"Admirable." the Lord-Admiral remarked before turning to his peers, "Gentlemen, do you have anything to add?"

Lahain was first to speak up: "No sir. There are still questions to be answered, but this will suffice for now. I think we now have a general idea of the Invictus and her capabilities."

"Agreed, Kraego, do you have anything to add?"

"Though I still do not have much faith in the commander's claims, it is a carrier and we need them. No questions at this time."

"I have a question to the Commander" The machine man spoke with a distorted voice.

"Ever since I set foot on this vessel, I sensed something off. Now I realise I can't sense the Machine Spirit of this vessel. Is something wrong with the ship's Spirit?"

"Machine Spirit? I am afraid I don't understand…"

"All complex machines have a Machine Spirit one has to tend to, to keep the machine in working order."

"This ship was designed to combat a foe which is more advanced than us, outnumbers us and tries to use our ships and weapons against us. So we find our strength in simplicity and the lack of computer networks, for all the good it did us..."

"The ship's soul is dead?"

"The ship was never alive Fabricator. Nor are our fighters"

Price could hardly believe it but the Mechanical Man almost looked sad at the notion. He even made stuttering noises, like machine language in a serene way, as if he were mourning a dead friend.

The short silence was broken by Ravensburg. "I think we have what we need for now. We shall retire for the moment and find a suitable task for your ship. In the meantime Fabricator Cambrius shall aid you with any repairs should you require them. We may station a Liaison Officer here for observation and communication. Do you have any objections to these statements, commander?"

After taking a quick glance to his XO Price agreed and lead the group back towards the airlock, which closed behind them.

"Did we go too hard on one of the admirals, Howard?"

"No Sir! He deserved what he got! He was looking down on us from the start. I frankly enjoyed seeing him blow up more than he already was."

"In that case we'd have to give Thatch a raise don't you think?"

"We may have to" Howard answered as he started to grin. Both officers walked off to have one of their famous drinks in the Readyroom, just for the heck of it.

 **And so the Imperium finally meets with Invictus properly. Hope you're all enjoying the story, and thanks to the few who have posted reviews! Please continue to provide feedback, or even PM me questions if you'd like, I'm thinking of doing Codexs for all the ships I write about in the mean time.**


	5. New Begining

Chapter 5

Walking through the halls of this space station was very much different from anything he had seen before. If anything this part of the station looked more like an ancient cathedral than a hall of a space station. Though this was one. Man and material were moving through many of the same halls, going about their business. Even skulls were flying around! If anything, these Imperial guys were a strange bunch. It took a few minutes for Price and his escort of soldiers to reach the planning chamber, which could be easier described as a church nave, where he would meet Ravensburg again for his briefing. And as expected, through the door he could see the authoritarian silhouette of the Lord-Admiral standing across the room.

"Morning Admiral" Price said, saluting.

Ravensburg answered his salute "Good morning Commander. How are the repairs to your ship coming?"

"Your mechanicus boys are a weird bunch, a lot nervous yammering on about their machine spirit, some suspicious glances, but they do a good job. They've repaired that engine within eight days. If they keep this rate up, we should be ready to cast off by this time tomorrow."

"Good, because I have an important mission for you and your men."

Both men walked up to an electronic charting table. All known stars and planets, as well as fleets and forces were blinking at their respective positions. Most were stationary, but some were moving, and fast as well!

Ravensburg pointed to one of the systems marked with strange markings.

"We are here, Port Maw, our fleet HQ. This here..." his finger moved slightly upwards, "This is the Barbarus Costa system. This system is relatively close to us and a key point in our shipping lanes. Most ships going this direction have to move through or close to this area. Unfortunately for us, this is also home to at least one very powerful Pirate warlord and his Fleet. To secure our trade routes, Admiral Mourndark and his battlegroup were dispatched to deal with the threat. Now however, he is in need of resupply in order to continue his offensive. Your orders are as follows: You are to meet with a small fleet of frigates at the edge of the system. There you will wait for the supply convoy to arrive, and you will escort them towards the rally point. When resupply is complete you are to engage in anti-pirate operations attached to Admiral Mourndark until instructed otherwise by me."

"Any word on threats out there? What to expect?"

"I have decided to attach a Liaison officer to your crew. He will monitor your ship and crew during actions. In addition he will have a more detailed instructions and Intel on enemy positions. He will arrive tomorrow, as well as a Wing commander to evaluate your spacecraft. Do you have any questions?"

"I do, but as you said, more instructions are coming in the morning. Is Admiral Mourndark aware of my ship's arrival?"

"A message detailing your convoy, including your battlestar was dispatched an hour ago."

"Good. Then I will await the arrival of your officers. Thank you for your time Admiral."

"Good Hunting, Commander."

Both men shook hands before Price turned around and started on his way back.

"Pirate raids… well they shouldn't pose a huge threat. The problem is to find the buggers. They're probably tucked away in some asteroid field."

"In our system, you would be right Howard, but remember that everything in this region is a lot bigger. And hunting pirates is not our task, escorting transports is. After that we'll see."

"Indeed, what about that officer they're supposed to send? Any clue on who he is?"

"I've read his file. I reckon he'll be keeping an eye on us."

"Making sure we behave? That can be a pain in the butt…"

"Maybe, but it can also be an opportunity to get to know our allies. We'll see who our guys are when they arrive." Price barely spoke those words before the intercom started buzzing. "Speaking of which. This is Price go ahead…. Papers check out...? Good, send em up to CIC." and he put down the horn.

Daemus Goradin; that was his name. Just another cog in the system, just another officer among thousands. He always worked hard, always did what was asked. But instead of a transfer to a line ship, he was now posted on some outsider warship! _You are the chosen one for the job!_ they said, yeah right. Babysitting some other unknown and probably unreliable officers, assessing and all of that crap. He wanted to lead! To show what he was made of! To show he was capable! Well, he just had to put up with it then. Maybe command would get wise and get him in a better position when he could file for transfer again.

 _Well, let's get this over_ with and with that thought lieutenant Goradin stood up, shouldered his duffel bag and started walking out of his cabin, closing the door behind him. Just some cabin he had to wait in for a week. Orders always did come slowly. Instead of taking the railcar, he turned to the docking arms and walked the long way towards his new posting. Looking out onto the coming and going space vessels was always a calming sight to him. Seeing those glorious vessels gliding past was an awesome sight. After a few minutes of walking the catwalks, his destination came into view.

Attached to Docking Bay Alpha-Centauri-12 was a most peculiar ship. The three kilometre long vessel did not wield an armoured prow, barely any superstructure to mention. If anything the bow looked more like an Alligator head. The main hull was relatively slender, blending with the larger bow head in the front, and the large engine bay in the back. The hull was flanked by two large flight-pods at the stern there were eight huge engines mounted around the main hull. Each engine had about a quarter of the total length of the ship. Overall the ship looked well armoured. He tried, but Goradin could not find many lights indicating viewports.

After a little while he arrived at the docking bay, and walked the length of it till he reached the airlock. He was greeted there by a soldier in strange uniform. Unlike the Imperial soldiers he wore not a green uniform, but a grey one. He had a strange kind of weapon slung around his shoulder.

"Lieutenant Daemus Goradin, reporting for duty. This is the Battlestar Invictus, am I correct?"

"Indeed you are sir" the soldier replied while checking his papers. "Goradin eh? We were expecting you. If you'll follow me, the commander will want to see you."

The pair walked through alleys and bulkheads, all shaped similarly and lined with indicators leading to who-knows-where. Crewmen and officers were walking to and fro, never had they encountered a quiet area. Whoever these men were, they did seem to work hard.

After a last turn the soldier walked through a large hatch labelled 'CIC'. Goradin walked after him and knew immediately that he had just stepped within the nervous centre of the ship. Operators were working on their stations, officers were relaying orders to their peers and consulting each other.

The entire room was filled with activity. Although the tech here seemed less advanced and strange to him, it seemed nothing less from professional, like it was built with true purpose. This went against all he was told at the Naval Academy. Both men walked up to a two metre long plotting table, surrounded by seemingly two senior officers and a few junior ones. Their dark-grey uniforms, although straight and true, were pale to his in comparison to his blue and white uniform. Goardin snapped at attention: "Lieutenant Daemus Goradin, Reporting for duty!"

The most senior officer spoke up while barely looking up at him. "You sure did take your time getting up here Lieutenant. Enjoy your coffee?" he said somewhat mockingly.

"Coffee, sir?"

"Yes Lieutenant. I'd rather think you took a nice cup of coffee before you got here than coming in late because you're reluctant to be here."

"I'm honoured to be here sir…."

"Let's promise not to lie to each other mister Goradin." the commander now took a more serious tone. "I've read your file, I know you came from a good position and you want to move on to a better one. Instead of a star position you've been posted here. I can understand your feelings, but that must not get in the way of our jobs. I expect you to follow my orders, should I issue them to you, as well as you answering truthfully to my questions. Especially the ones regarding the safety of this ship. Out there all we've got to rely on is each other, so I need to be able to count on you. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir!" Daemus replied. He could not believe what he was hearing.

"Good. Sergeant Horvath here will show you to your quarters. Be sure to come back within the hour. I'd like to see that detailed mission briefing Ravensburg gave you. Dismissed."

Daemus snapped at attention again, grabbed his gear and followed the Sergeant who met him on the docks. Of all the welcomes he could have gotten, this was not the one he expected. Part of him was outraged that he was mocked, listed as being lazy and being firmly put in his place. Another part of him was glad, and mildly surprised, he hadn't been shot on the spot. Another smaller part of him impressed by the commanders resolve. He seemed to read him, knew his crew and what was happening around him. Though he was not sure how he felt about the man himself, he was somewhat relieved that he was not posted with some rag-tag group of half-witted rebel cowards. _That was something at least…_ a now slightly confused and downtrodden Goradin thought to himself, slinking away after the sergeant.

"Didn't you go a little hard on that young fellow?"

"I don't think so Howard. That guy is ambitious. He had star-worth grades coming from the smaller carriers. He was bucking for promotion, a place on the big and glorious ships. Instead he is posted here, on a ship and a crew that is a virtual unknown to the brass. He does not want to be here."

"Makes sense. But still, at the end of the day we may need him."

"And he will need us. That's the reason I went hard on him, besides a bit of fun teasing the newcomer. He needs to know who's in charge, that we know what we're doing and we are not some bumbling band of idiots. That way we'll get him in line. Same as the new flight sergeant we're getting. Have you read his file?"

"Seems to be the rough type. Apparently he is a veteran of many battles and has seen a lot of action."

"Once he knows we command because we know what we are doing, and we're not just here because of our influence, he will follow."

A short silence fell between the two men, both pondering.

"Prep the ship for launch. Once everything is on board I want to leave as soon as possible. We are mostly fixed up now, no need to hang around."

"Aye sir."

Flight sergeant Mercer Trune had stood just outside of the CIC, watching this situation unfold with slight amusement. He had arrived at the ship shortly after the lieutenant, so when he saw him put in his place he couldn't resist to watch. The expression on the man's face when he looked him in the eye was priceless. He chuckled a bit and stepped through the hatch towards the commanding officers. "Commander Price, Colonel Howard? Wing Commander Mercer Trune reporting for duty, Sir." he said while saluting both officers.

"At ease Sergeant. Enjoying the scene, were you?"

"Well, yes a bit Colonel. I've served with LT Goradin before. Sometimes he needs to be put into place. When that happens I like to be there."

"Is your rivalry gonna be a problem, Sergeant?" Price asked with a stern voice.

"Goradin and I know our duty, sir. You've got nothing to worry about."

"Good. You are here to assess our fighters and air-group capabilities, so I have attached you to one of our active squadrons. You will be trained in our older Mk II Vipers with an option to transition to the later Mk VII. During this cruise I expect you to take part in combat operations as if you were one of my pilots. During this period you will not be holding a leading rank until instructed otherwise. Do you have any questions about this?"

"Not directly. But Air-group? Cruise? I thought this ship had space-faring strike craft."

"Both names are descended from another time. Our vipers are space fighters capable of atmospheric flight. Your instructor will tell you more. Any information you can share with us on enemy strike craft capabilities would be greatly appreciated. If there is nothing else, one of my marines will escort you to your quarters. Your instructor will meet you there."

"Thank you sir. Looking forward to this voyage." He saluted and walked off.

While the two imperials were unpacking, the rest of the crew were preparing the ship for launch. Everything that wasn't yet fixed or stored was in the moments to come. The last checklists were run down, as with the last diagnostics to double check. Within the hour the ship was ready to cast off, with every man at his station.

In the CIC Price observed the procedure and directed where needed, but as the men and women were well trained, this was hardly necessary. In the corner of his vision he could see the Imperial Lieutenant coming through the CIC hatch walking towards him.

"Thanks for coming so soon mister Goradin, we were about to cast off. XO, status."

"The board is green. Ship reports ready for departure once the airlocks are secure."

"Alright. Signal the port we are ready to depart. Secure all airlocks and release docking clamps. Take the ship out to our jump point Howard."

"Aye sir" he replied while executing the orders. "Helm, give me a left lateral translation, slow speed. Get us away from the docking arm, and fire the Bow Thrusters."

The moment he gave the orders, all docking clamps retracted, releasing the Invictus from the station. On the bow and stern thrusters fired to move the massive ship gently away from the space station. Moments later two massive Retro Boosters mounted in the bow roared to life, pushing the ship backwards slowly. Once clear of the station the ship rotated towards its first Jump Point before her main engines fired, propelling her away. The first step to her mission in the Babarus system.

 **Thanks to everyone submitting reviews and following the story, please do keep posting, it does help!**


	6. Pirate Troubles

Chapter 6

The journey towards the first jump point was almost complete two days after the departure from Port Maw. From the moment the ship left the system of Port Maw, all the crew saw were readiness drills, combat drills, or any other kind a commanding officer could think up. The crew didn't like it much. The officers on the other hand saw this as a golden opportunity to train the crew a bit more while they were still in relatively safe area.

Not knowing what's ahead, everyone could use all the training they could get. In addition to that, it would keep the crew occupied.

For all his experience, Mercer Trune had to agree with this. Going into combat within possibly two weeks, he had to get the hang of his new kite and fast. From the moment the ship departed Port Maw he had almost nonstop briefings and classes on the Viper. Luckily his instructor seemed to be a man who knew what he was talking about.

As promised Mercer met his instructor at his cabin. The man looked as if he was somewhere past his fifties, his eyes looked older though. That he was a long time pilot was clear, but how he had stayed at this position for so long was a mystery to him. "You must be our new pilot! Mercer Trune right?"

"Right. You are Mr…?"

"Major Irwin Burke, but most call me Bingo. I'm your instructor and CO"

"Interesting name"

"It's just a call sign. You will get one in time. Put your stuff in your cabin if you haven't already and follow me. I'd like to start your training as soon as possible."

"Expecting trouble Major?"

"Word is we're going into battle within the next two weeks, so yeah you could say that." the old man answered while they both turned and walked the corridors. "Have they showed you your plane yet?"

"No sir, no time yet."

"Then we'll do that first" Major Burke said while ducking through the bulkhead leading to the main hangar deck. The entire deck was in motion. Hangar crews were giving maintenance to the spacecraft while others were preparing the fighters to be moved towards the flight pods. Small carts were driving to and from their respective destinations. And despite the maze of motion, Irwin Burke didn't seem to have any difficulty finding his way without someone driving over his toes.

Somewhere halfway in the middle of the bay stood a few small fighters coloured in white with red-bands. Though he was not familiar with the type, Trune could see that the white vessels were of an older type than the grey and sleeker ones, which were more numerous in the hangar. All were significantly smaller than his trusty old Fury, a mere 9 meters, which gave him serious doubts.

"Is that my Strike Craft? Isn't it a bit small…?"

"Don't let its size fool ya. This ship is fast, very manoeuvrable and has a nasty bite. Armed with two mass drivers and up to 8 missiles, this ship can turn very powerful ships of the line into burning hulks. Once you've flown this bird to its limit you'll see what it can do. You've read the plane's manual and operations?"

"Yes… I have." The Imperial Pilot still looking supremely unimpressed by the Viper.

"Good, get in your flight-suit. You're going up in an hour."

Although the CIC always was a centre of activity, at the moment everything was relatively quiet. The lower crewmen went on with their tasks while senior staff was monitoring exercises and navigation duties.

All radio traffic of the air-group exercises was routed to the speakers in the room, so all inside could listen in to all the chit-chat which was cast into the void. Some of it was more comedy than anything else. "Sounds like someone is enjoying himself."

"You know our fighter boys, always witty and on the one-liners. Let them have their fun, they deserve it."

"Maybe you're right John, but our boys should be sharp while out there. By the way, our new Flight Sergeant is up for his first flight right about now."

"That should be something to listen to." Goradin said to no-one in particular.

"Why is that?"

"I've served with Mercer on a few occasions. He gets very… passionate… when flying; when he's struggling his language becomes less… civilized, if you catch my meaning."

Meanwhile Mercer Trune was strapped in his new plane and being loaded in the launch tube for the first time. Major 'Bingo' Burke had given him a personal introduction in the operation of the small craft and gave another lecture on the launch procedure. On the first glance this new fighter was simple and the controls didn't differ much from his Fury, to his great surprise _I suppose some things are just universally 'human'_ Mercer reasoned with himself. Now he would find out how this bucket would fly.

The tube launcher came in on radio:

"This is shooter; I have control standby…. Viper 114 clear forward" loading completed and a massive door closed behind him, sealing him away from the hangar bay. All he could see now was a thick airlock door leading to the long tunnel ahead to the void, and the launch-tube control cabin to his right.

"Nav-con green, Interval check" Trune checked the instruments and signalled the controller. The magnetic catapult came back and hooked his plane up with a soft thump while the outer door opened, sucking the remaining air away.

"Magcat ready, thrust positive and good luck." With those words the shooter pressed a button which launched the fighter out the launch tube with tremendous speed. Within seconds the little fighter emerged outside the huge battlestar, now flying on his own.

Following the instructions of the Major, Mercer immediately throttled up and tried to stabilize his fighter. Instead he overcorrected and started bouncing all over the place. His long sting of angry, colourful and exotic cursing and swearing was there for everyone to hear. In the CIC operators were listening over the speakers to the rapid fire and unbroken stream of bad language. Here and there a few smiles and badly camouflaged grins emerged on various faces. Even the senior officers had a hard time keeping a straight face. Lieutenant Goradin did no such effort to hide his amusement, laughing himself off his feet at the plotting table.

"I think I know what you mean Daemus" Howard said with barely a straight face.

Major Burke was flying in the void together with Mercer to teach his new "Nugget" how to fly and was much less amused.

"Easy on the stick Sergeant! Easy, easy, Holy Frack!" Burke sweared while he had to evade. His Nugget came barrelling down straight towards him. "Nugget! Small movements, use small movements and go easy on the throttle!"

"This damned spasticated bucket is all over the place! Can't get the bloody thing straight, and don't call me a Gakkin' 'Nugget'!"

"Until you master your plane I call you whatever I want. You are way too enthusiastic with the controls. You are not flying a Fury; you are flying a Viper. So fly like one!"

It took some effort, but after about thirty or so seconds, he managed to straighten the craft out, more or less. "Be careful nugget. Your Viper can turn end on end in 0.34 seconds. Keep that in mind when you fly or you'll be hosed out of your cockpit by the chief of the deck. Let's try a few simple circuits to let you get the hang of it. Keep on my 4. Follow me."

"I thought that was just exaggeration! How does a craft even get so manoeuvrable?"

The Major didn't respond, but the silence seemed to tell Mercer that what he just said was very stupid. And Trune knew better then to keep shouting and swearing after that.

Both planes started to take off further away from the Battlestar and started their racetrack pattern. Now this nugget got his plane under control, things went better. Over time he became more confident flying it and stopped bobbing up and down around Burke. After a few touch and go's on the port flight pod, the man's status as a veteran pilot started shining through his inexperience with the Viper.

Though this sense of progress was short to live. Something was off so 'Bingo' Burke turned his craft around and watched his rear. At first sight nothing special was around, save for a small asteroid field some distance away. But after a little while it was clear that there was something out there, the rocks moving in far too organised a pattern.

"Invictus-Bingo, I've got contacts inside the asteroid field, how copy over."

"Copy that Bingo, we're getting faint contacts here. Get your flight home, alert Vipers on the way."

"Roger Invictus, Bingo RTB. Okay Nugget, we've got Bogeys on our tail. Reinforcements are coming but we've got orders to land ASAP so firewall the throttle!"

In the CIC everyone was working hard to get to action stations while trying to identify the unknown craft. Though none of the Battlestar crew had any idea of the classes and weaponry in the sector.

"Commander, if I may?" Goradin asked while gesturing towards the sensor operators. Price nodded.

"Crewman, can you get me a visual on those contacts?"

After flipping a few switches and button presses three ships emerged on the screen.

"Commander, these ships appear to be a Havoc Class Merchant raider escorted by two Claymore Class Corvettes, followed by strike craft; looks to be a squadron or two of Furies, possibly some older Faustus Interceptors mixed in. I advise prioritizing the Havoc first as it is better armed and has only very flimsy protection."

"What are the weapons on those ships?"

"The havoc has some prow weapon batteries and Plasma based weapons. Those can cause severe damage to an unshielded ship this size, fortunate really that they are only short ranged weapons and the thing is an easy kill. The Claymores have a single sub-macro railgun turret, not significantly larger than Ivictus's own guns, and a bunch of Point defence turbolasers and autocannons."

Howard frowned "We have superior firepower than them all combined. Why would they attack us?"

"They may think we are a cargo hauler Howard. Aside from a few people, no-one here has ever seen a Battlestar. We could use this to our advantage." Price answered

The three Pirate ships closed in rapidly, eager to claim their loot. This eagerness would prove to be costly. All main gun turrets rose from their nests and rotated to face the attackers, ready to fire at a moment's notice. Vipers were intercepting the few strike craft the pirates had, while the Strike Vipers were forming up and preparing their own counter-attack. The Pirate Captains barely had the time to realise their mistake. When they were too close to run, a huge wall of fire rose up and sped towards them impacting on the Void Shields of all three ships. The Corvettes started returning fire while turning in a vain attempt to outflank the Battlestar's guns; the pirates discovering to their horror that there was no outflanking that wall of shells. Guns seemingly covering the ship. Some of the Corvette's shots hit home, absorbed by the armor, while others bounced off the angled sections. The Havoc Raider had to close in further for it to be able to return fire. All this time the small ship had the full attention of battlestar's entire Port broadside, putting significant stress on the fragile Shield generator. It would not take long for the shields to fail and the shells to start impacting the hull.

The weak armor of the raider was no match for the powerful broadside of the battlestar. Shells penetrated the outer hull and bounced around on the inside, wreaking havoc to the ships internals. The pirate attempted desperately to turn and run, but this ultimately proved to be a grave mistake. A direct hit to a portside battery caused the entire compartment to erupt in a violent explosion of plasma. Everyone inside was either blown to the bulkheads, vaporised by the Plasma washback or sucked into the void. Seconds later multiple shells hit the engine bay, setting the ship adrift: dead in space.

Meanwhile fighters from both sides were turning round each other in a massive furball. Las-blasts were answered with Mass-Driver shells and missiles, complemented by the countless FLAK batteries firing from the Invictus: preventing the Furies from opening the distance on the more mobile Vipers. Dozens of Fury Fighters fought a desperate battle, but they were completely overwhelmed by the numbers of more manoeuvrable fighters thrown at them. If they managed to shake off one pursuer, another would take his place in moments. This was emphasized with the vibrations and TAK-TAK-TAK sound of impacting shells. The Fury was tough, but there was only so much even the Imperial-built interceptors could take. In a last ditch attempt to gain a kill, one of the Furies broke off and burned at a ramming course with one of the vipers, hoping to make a breakout. At the last moment the viper shot to the side, letting the desperate fighter through. In the blind fury the fighter wandered straight into the Flak-barrier. A single FLAK shell penetrated the hull of the stricken fighter before exploding inside, shredding any and all equipment. Support-beams were broken, panels blown out and reactors breached, as well as detonating the missile stockpile held by the Interceptor. The explosion that resulted was larger than any colonial ever thought possible for the size of the spacecraft. Only warped and glowing-hot chunks of wing and nose were left when the fire dissipated. The rest of the pirate fighters rested a similar fate. Fight or Flee, it didn't matter. At the end of the battle, the result would be the same.

With the Havoc out of the fight, and every Pirate fighter fighting for every minute of extra life, the Claymores were on their own. The closest one was focussed down by the Invictus herself while the other was attacked by at least 40 strike vipers. Both ships fired all their defence guns in an attempt to deflect the attack. All they did was delaying the inevitable. Invictus battered the shield bubble of its target, whittling it away. Knowing what was about to happen, the Corvette turned and burned away at flank speed towards the safety of the asteroid field. By doing so it showed the now exposed engines to its attacker. The ship did outrun Invictus, but its shells it did not. In the next moments the engine bay took heavy damage. Fires erupted out of the hull, trailing lazily out of its host.

AP shell no 3789 was just loaded in the breach of Dorsal turret 5's dual cannons. Slowly the turret adjusted its aim and fired both cannons. 3789 blasted out of the barrel, leaving a meters-long muzzle flash behind. Silently ripping through the void, the rear of its target doubled in size with every split-second. With untold violence the shell ripped through the weak armour between the two corvette engines, blasting and bouncing through the engine bay it ripped cables, destroyed equipment and ruptured plasma-lines to finally impact the containment magnets of the main reactor.

Inside the stricken ship, alarms started blaring and warning lights lit up. All it did though was strike more fear into its crew. For them, it did not take long.

With the reactor's containment gone, the plasma inside ran rampant. Expanding and expanding while slowly melting through the reactor shielding. One of the rogue enginseers looked with sheer horror at the events. Once the plasma broke free, he was evaporated in an instant. He never felt what hit him.

The plasma washback raged towards already-filled capacitors. The result of the two in contact was spectacular. First the engines flickered and extinguished. Seconds later the engine bay exploded so incredibly violently the fires entire engulfed the entire ship. The only thing to emerge was the ship's armoured prow, blasted away by the explosion. The Prow drifted away for a few seconds, carried by the momentum of the corvette and the violent explosion that vaporised its hull, only to impact on one of the asteroids in the field.

The remaining corvette suffered a similar fate at the hands of the Strike Vipers. It too suffered an explosive reactor breach, catching a few of the less fortunate colonial pilots in the blast. Any strike craft with anti-ship ordnance left fired it at the drifting Havoc, ending the engagement. All of this took just under 20 minutes.

"Ok gentlemen, lets wrap this up, we've wasted enough time here. XO, recover fighters. Jump Prep!"

The orders were barely given or the crew had already started carrying them out. Within minutes the last fighter was aboard.

"FTL?" - "Go!"

"Sub-light?" - "Go!"

A jump? Already? The commander truly is a hard-ass to risk Warp Jumps this early! The Imperial Lieutenant didn't like this one bit. Although he tried, he could not hide his nervous and terrified emotions. To say that Warp Travel is dangerous would be a tremendous understatement! Not to mention he hadn't seen any sign of a navigator aboard! "Emperor save us" he thought and started mumbling a prayer in High Gothic: " _Deus omnium Imperator, ut salvet nos de periculis inane..._ "

"Engineering?" - "Go!"

"Flight Pods?" - "Go!"

"Commander Price, the board is green. Ship reports ready for jump sir!"

"Very well, start the clock!"

The Jump operator at his station inserted the Jump Key in the console and started a countdown.

"10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5"

" _Deus omnium Imperator, ut salvet nos de periculis inane. Deus omnium Imperator, ut salvet nos de periculis inane..._ "

"3, 2, 1, Jump!"

The moment the operator turned the key, Goradin felt an intense nausea rise to his throat. The walls seemed to come at him while he felt as if he was shrinking. On the outside one could see the engines die out just before a bright flash travelled from the bow to stern. After that the ship was gone, like it was never there. All of this happened within a fraction of a second… Taking a pair of terrified Imperials with it.


	7. Re-supply

**Chapter 7**

Commander Widmann paced around in his cabin, its large windows overlooking the bow of the ship. He had been waiting for days already with his Escort squadrons. Waiting for the word to set off. His ships had already taken position around the cargo ships in convoy. His Sword class frigate, the Falcon, took point in the formation. They were flanked by two Firestorm Frigates, the Vigel and Achilles. The formation was closed by the last Sword frigate, the Hydra.

The formation was ready to go for two days already. He could've set off already, were it not for his original backup being rerouted somewhere else. Instead he was to be reinforced at some outsider ship. And now they would have to wait for it while they should have been under way! Whoever gave this outrageous order only the emperor knows. But if he had his way he would have his head!

There was nothing to be done about it now.

A knocking sound came from his door. "Enter". His second in command, Lieutenant Konig entered the room. "You asked for status reports, commander?"

"Yes, any sign of the Outsider?"

"Nothing yet. Since the Astropath signal yesterday we've heard nothing. Our Auspex arrays do not detect anything new in the vicinity either."

"I thought as much. Are our ships ready?"  
"In position and ready to go."

"Good, I grow tired of waiting. If by dawn this Outsider has not arrived I intend to depart with the force we have. Mourndark is waiting, and we should have set off 48 hours ago. If we are late due to an outsider it will still be on my head! I will not have it!"

"Shall I give the order, Sir?"

"If we are still on our own in… I'll give them three hours. We'll be under way."

Barely had he spoken those words when his cabin was lit by a blinding flash.

The bright flash lit up the void, filling the once empty space with a three kilometers worth of warship.

The ships nearby were taken by surprise and scattered like leaves in the wind, taking defensive positions.

"Jump 239 complete. Just under 2k drift. Right where we're supposed to be sir."

"Very well Nav officer. Mister Goradin, are you ok? You look a little green."

The young man didn't answer. It looked like he had trouble keeping his lunch from exiting through his mouth.

"Don't worry" XO Howard replied, "You should've seen the old man on his first jump. That was a sight to see…"

"If I remember correctly you didn't look peachy either Mark."

What is going on here? Why aren't we in the Warp? Why are there no horrors lurking just outside the hull? While all these questions were raging through his mind, Goradin looked over his shoulder towards the Navigation screen. The display blinked, and showed their current position with new planetary orbits and constellations. He didn't believe it, but it was true. They had arrived safely within seconds. How this was possible he did not know. For now he just decided to go with it.

"Are jumps always this easy?"

"No jumps are ever easy Lieutenant" Howard replied, "we have to calculate each jump extensively. Deviating by just a few degrees and we could end up smack-dead in the middle of a sun. Some poor bastard in a raptor made that mistake once. He jumped and ended up into some chunk of rock floating off Arilon."

"That woke people up back at Fleet HQ."

"Why these questions, Goradin? Doesn't your Navy travel in a similar way?"

"Far from it to be honest. We are bound to traveling through the realm of the Immaterium."

"Immaterium?"

"Imagine the worst possible hellish realm filled with ancient creatures hungering for your soul scratching at the hull. Try, if you can, to imagine that and you have a happy view of what you have to face when reaching your destination. Every voidsman fears Warp travel, the sane ones anyway."

A short silence fell over the men, only to be broken by the static of incoming transmissions.

"Unknown Vessel, Identify yourself immediately!"

"This is commander Price of the BS Invictus 92nd Battlegroup here to reinforce 212 and 327, Alpha and Bravo, squadrons. Sending ID codes now" Price said while gesturing to the Comms specialist.

"Check those codes!" Widmann Barked.

"They're authentic sir!"

"Check them again!" the man virtually roared back.

The boy working the stations, he could only be described as a boy, worked the controls again, franticly trying to see any fault or trace of deception. He could find none. "The Cogitators confirm it, the codes are authentic."

"I agree sir." Lieutenant Konig replied "The codes are sound. They are our reinforcements."

Looking out of the bridge windows they could see the strange warship slowly glide towards the formation, taking position above the centre formation. Strange tiny craft emerged from the sides of is large extenders, which one could only guess to be launch bays of some sort. When the ship glided past at just 500 meters distance the bridge crew could see this warship carried at least 8 turrets on its dorsal side. The broadsides mounted more large calibre turrets, while large parts of the side was covered with smaller guns. Probably defence guns of some sort. The ship was impressive to see to say the least. Maybe Fleet command didn't hurt them as much as he originally thought.

"Stand down from Battlestations."

Though the so called battlestar was upside down, it rotated with a speed comparable to an escort to face the same way as the rest of the formation.

It didn't take long for the formation to be closed. Finally the convoy was ready to depart. After a series of light signals, all engines lit up. Plasma blasts erupted from the engines and slowly but surely, the convoy gained speed. Finally under way to deliver much needed supplies to Admiral Mourndark's forces.

During the next eleven days the convoy repelled multiple pirate raids. Somehow the Pirate lords got wind of the convoy, but the attempts to stop and raid it had little result. Long before the attacks were carried out, the Viper patrols and sensor systems of the escort fleet had already seen the raiders coming. All it achieved was thinning the pirate fleet numbers while they barely delayed the resupply fleet. With the combined effort of the imperial escorts and Invictus they managed to destroy four frigates and multiple Cobra Destroyers. Apparently the pirates didn't count on a tough escort with swarms of strike craft bearing down on them like a swarm of angry bees.

When the convoy was not in combat, the Invictus ran drill after drill while keeping up patrols. Mainly because of this. Commander Widmann came to see the value of the Battlestar and found respect for its commander. With Invictus controlling the space around with combat patrols and was more than capable of defending itself vs strike craft, as a result the imperial escorts were free to move as they saw fit, increasing their options tenfold.

When the convoy arrived at the edge of the system, all of the Invictus' crew had a sight to behold.

Far in the distance, behind dust clouds and debris one could see the immense concert of flashes and explosions of a battle being waged in the far distance. Every now and then, a keen eye could make out the ships silhouettes before disappearing again. Closer to the lines there were ships flying off and on towards their objectives.

On the staging ground behind the lines there were multiple ships waiting for their precious supplies. Though most ships were massive in size, they drifted with majestic grace towards the convoy.

Now however came the stage where the resupply fleet was at its most vulnerable.

In the CIC both senior officers were busy leading patrols and keeping the resupply operation covered.

The Invictus had positioned herself on the flank while the other escorts surrounded the other directions. Though no enemy was present at the time, every man was at his station and all guns were raised from their nests.

"I don't like sitting around like this John." Colonel Howard remarked. "We're a sitting duck out here."

"We are way behind the frontlines Colonel."

"Are we? We have at least half a dozen ships of the line stationery out there with buckets of ammo strapped to their hull. All it takes is one torpedo, one lucky shot to get through and the ship lights up like a firework show!"

"Why do you think we have so many Vipers patrolling out there? Take it easy Howard. If anyone is out there we'll find them before they get too close."

"Have we received our orders yet?" Lieutenant Goradin stepped up to the conn while buttoning up his collar.

"Not yet. The last we've heard was two days ago, us covering the resupply operation. Haven't heard from him since." XO Howard answered.

"It shouldn't take too much longer. Mourndark isn't one to let ships just sit around while they could do something useful. Though I must say he doesn't really value carriers. He values armour and cannons over strike craft. In his eyes carriers are more of a burden than an asset."

"Knowing this, where would the station us?" Price asked while pulling out the situation map.

"We would never be placed in the main fleet. No offence but in his eyes this ship is still a wildcard. My guess would be either the Rear guard or the Vanguard." Goradin noted while pointing at the respective positions on the map.

"We would be ordered to either cover the rear, or scout on ahead of the main fleet. In that case we'd be looking for mines, traps, any sign of offensives and the sort."

"As long as we stay out of those asteroid fields we should be ok. DRADIS is useless in there."

"What do you mean?"

"With so much stuff flying about in those fields the system can't see the difference between a spacecraft and an asteroid. Besides, even if it could see ships, the only thing the bad guy has to do is hide behind one of those rocks and we'd never know. The same goes for our fighters, so if we go in there we have to rely on the Mk1 Eyeball. Our IR sensors may spot something, but the enemy can hide from that as well."

"If we can't go in we have to make the other guy come out."

"Indeed Daemus. We have to lure them out to be precise."

In the past twelve days Mercer Trune had been flying almost non-stop. The classes about Viper tactics and flying the actual patrols next to his training were exhausting. His instructor set the bar very high and kept pushing him further and harder. Somehow he wondered how some imperial squadrons would look and function if men like Bingo trained the men. He never raised his voice unless absolutely necessary, always remained calm and didn't scold you if you made a mistake, save for a grave one. But if you failed to meet his expectations he didn't shout or scream like most Imperial training officers. He just looked you in the eye with utter disappointment, which in its own right was worse than the former. At least there was never any threat of death or torture.

In any case, although the training was exhausting, he got a better feeling for his Viper the longer he flew it and grew to like it. He still preferred his Fury over the tiny craft, but he began to see its charm. The first few flights he still struggled to control the craft just after launch and needed a minute to straighten out. This was of course coupled with his signature hurricane of bad language which earned him the nickname "Storm". Though he found this habit strange he did prefer this to 'Nugget', which was still his first nickname. Even though the difference of culture and uniform separated him from the other pilots, he was treated with respect. The others pulled a chair over and asked him to join in off-duty card games and the occasional drinks while sharing stories. Though this ship has hardly seen combat outside of this sector, a lot of pilots were veterans of some hostile action.

The oldest veteran appeared to be his instructor. According to the pilots Bingo was a decorated veteran of what they called 'The First Cylon War', although he rarely wore his medals. He was offered promotions multiple times, but he wanted to keep flying so he declined them all. So after all this time he still flies the same bird he flew all those years ago. Regardless of the stories told, every time the name 'Bingo' came across the table it was soon followed with: "Pay attention to what that old man says. It may save your life one day." And that he did.

For Mercer the time for training was over. The ship was now in an active war zone so it needed every pilot and plane that could fly. So there he was, flying a Combat Patrol near the resupply area as Bingo's wingman. He felt sharp and ready to go. Bingo was less excited and held him back a bit. Nevertheless from the moment his Viper blasted out of the launch tube, Mercer kept his finger close to the Master Arm button. He wanted to be ready to punch in a moment's notice. He would get his wish soon enough….

The radio within his Viper soon cracked to life. A distorted voice sounded through his helmet:

"Invictus to all Vipers. Emergency recall. Three enemy contacts bearing 278 carum 064. Regroup at point Charlie. Orders are to engage and destroy all hostiles. Acknowledge on same frequency."

An attack? Now? "Copy Invictus. You got that message Storm?"

"Copy that Bingo. Ready to go on your command."

"Return to point Charlie, all fighters will regroup on us. We will cover the strikers which come behind us. Don't worry, we'll get some shots in."

Out of his canopy he could see the massive hulk of Invictus come about and move itself between the resupply fleet and the attacking force. At the same time dozens of fighters and strike craft took up formation on his wing while others were shot out of their launch tubes. Pretty soon the formation consisted of numerous fighters and strike craft, all loaded for bear. From the front the formation looked like a big honeycomb while from the side it looked like a giant wedge. Bingo was in command and lead the formation towards its respective target. Moments later Mercer saw huge balls of light speeding towards the enemy. Looking down to his left he could see the entire back of Invictus light up with cannon fire. Each shell was accelerated with such violence that the rear of it lit up like a fireball.

Nearby Firestorm and Sword frigate squadrons reformed their formations, ready to support the Fighter assault.

"All Vipers, Fence in!" Bingo called in through his radio. Following this order all lights were extinguished and weapons were armed.

Every fighter activated and locked its missiles on the incoming raiders, awaiting the command to fire. Mercer had locked his missiles and flipped the launch cover on his control stick with his thumb. He could hear the missile growling in his headset, ready to go.

The call came: "Launch missiles!"

He pressed the button on his control stick, punching two missiles off to speed towards their targets moments later. Every fighter launched two missiles at their respective targets, forming almost a cloud of them speeding away. Seconds later the formation broke off to make room for the strikers. While looking through the side of his cockpit, Mercer could see the impacts of what seemed to be dozens of missiles. Some were intercepted by the defence guns, but more than enough went through and severely damaged the pirate vessels.

Before the missiles hit, the enemy vessels managed to fire off a spread of torpedoes now speeding towards the imperial supply vessels.

Price had been watching the battle unfold from the CIC. When the call came in of inbound torpedoes, he immediately scrambled defence fighters to intercept. Invictus and nearby frigates were already in a good position to defend with its FLAK batteries and take any hits necessary. With the viper squadrons making quick work of the pirate vessels, he had ordered his batteries to focus on incoming ordnance only. If any torpedo got through, Invictus could take a hit, the transports couldn't.

"New Contacts! Two vessels bearing 303 long range."

"Can you identify them Goradin?"

"They appear to be Idolator frigates. They have long range Lances. I advise taking them out fast. If they fire on the unprotected transports..."

"It gets real messy, understood. XO, direct the Blacksharks to intercept and destroy. They are cleared to engage at will."

"Aye sir!" Howard replied before relaying the order.

In the back of the painted black two-seat Strike Viper, the Weapons Systems Officer was franticly working his targeting systems and Jamming equipment. Though the pressure was high, both he and his pilot were as calm as could be. Every man in the Blacksharks was the same, like a squadron signature. There was a reason why they were the elite. Not everyone was cut out to be like them, to handle nuclear weapons like they do. So whenever a hard job needed doing, they were the ones to be called.

Now his squadron of black strikers was flying towards their target, all readying to jam every sensor and weapons system in the nearby area in an attempt to blind the enemy.

"Target in sight, locking on" the officer said to his pilot.

"Copy that Wizzo. How long till in range?"

"30 seconds. Music on?"

"Music on!" All jammers jumped on and blinded any sensor in range. If any point defence gun had a shooting solution, they had lost it now. Without reliable weapons lock, the guns blasted into the void hoping to hit something.

A calm voice sounded through the wireless: "Start your attack run."

The nearby Firestorm squadron fired their lances at the incoming pirate frigates in anticipation of the strikers attack. At least two frigates fired in rapid succession. Their lance blasts impacted the void shields of the red ships, putting strain on the shield generator.

Dozens of tailless shark-mouthed StrikeVipers raced towards their targets and shot off their nuclear warheads without mercy. Once the missiles left the rail the vipers turned and got out of range. Though at this range they could take the blast, they preferred not to take any chances. Besides, the missiles with their advanced tracking systems didn't need any supporting guidance.

Like hawks diving on their prey the missiles blasted through the point defence barrier and impacted the idolators Void shields. The resulting blast was tremendous, overloading the void-shield generator, knocking out several systems and dazzling the crew. The EMP left behind rendered the idolators blind for a while.

"Targets hit and damaged"

"They're still alive and mobile. Second wave, commence attack"

The idolators had survived the first attack, but they wouldn't survive the second wave. With their void-shields down they were an easy target for the nuclear warheads carried by the attackers and the lances of the distant Firestorm frigates. All that remained moments later was irradiated and glowing hot debris.

"Commander, Viper flights confirm the destruction of enemy vessels. Nothing left but wreckage"

"Very well. Signal Major Burke to get his planes back on board and leave a CAP. Let Mourndark know the indolators have been dealt with. Signal nearby ships to steer clear of the wrecks. Unexploded ammo may still go off."

Moments after the message was sent, the comms specialist called out the answer.

"Sir, we've got a reply from Mourndark, but it's coded. I need the decryption key."

Deamus Goradin tore his eyes away from the DRADIS screen. "Commander, with your permission. I think I may be of help."

Price nodded and ordered the comms specialist to stand aside and allowed Goradin to take his seat.

"We have many security codes for various degrees of rank and threats, so Chaos userpers or worse cant track out movements. Usually I don't have this high a clearance, but since I am the highest ranking Imperial officer on this ship…." he paused and started typing.

"As this would likely be deployment orders, the code would likely be Beta-sigma or beta….. Got it!"

As he typed in the latter code the message started to decrypt automatically.

"Nice work. Let's see what the Admiral has to say."

Priority message security code Beta-Centouri

From: Strategic Fleet Command Babarus Fleet, Admiral Mourndark.

To: Commander Price, Battlestar Invictus.

Regarding: Operational orders

-Message begins: -

Actions defending resupply fleet well done and appreciated.

When Rear-Guard resupply operation complete, take station at the Rear-Guard Fleet.

Cover the angles from flanking attacks.

Contact Read-Admiral McCallun for deployment details.

Good hunting,

The Emperor protects.

-Message ends-

Colonel Howard was the first to comment. "Was about time we got our orders. Took 'em long enough."

"True, but now at least we know what the fleet expects of us. What is the status of the resupply op?"

"About two hours left, providing we don't have any issues." Deamus read of his clipboard.

"Good. Contact the Rear-Admiral. Let him know when we'll be ready. What are our losses up till now? Howard?"

"Flight ops has just begun recovering our craft. We have 20 planes damaged of which 9 severely. No losses yet, but we'll have a complete list once everyone is aboard."

"Very well. Keep me informed. Navigator, get me all the info on the outskirts of the system you can get."

"Working on it sir!" the young man answered with a frustrated undertone. He seemed to struggle with the console. Errors and garbled data kept appearing on the screen.

Price and Howard walked up to the console. "Specialist, what is going on?"

"I don't know, sir. Hang on…" he continued typing, trying to find what was going on when suddenly the screen lighted up like a lightbulb and shut down in a rain of sparks. Quickly he scrambled to get a diagnostic tool and started running tests. After a few moments he emerged from the console.

"Power surge energized the board. Systems have been twitchy ever since the Cylons attacked the colonies. Maybe they had infiltrated our computer before we broke the network."

"Mr Tandor, this is more than a twitch." and Price walked back to the Chart table.

"The Commander is right. I don't care if you have to go through this program line by line. Fix it."

"Excuse me Colonel?"

"You heard me…"

"Sir! I'm running every diagnostic we've got. Checking each line of code could take days."

"I am not interested in excuses. Fix it!"

"It is not an excuse, SIR! It's a Fracking FACT!" he emphasized the last word with a loud kick to the console. The CIC fell silent and all eyes were turned on him.

Price approached Tandor again "Mr Tandor, Pull yourself together." he said with a calm voice.

"Yes sir. Sorry sir." with that said he returned to the console and began the work. Price again walked back to the charting table where Colonel Howard was waiting for him.

"What the hell is his problem?"

"Months on the run and what do we have to show for it? Casualties, new battles, deteriorating conditions. He is not the first. I've witnessed a few arguments in the mess. The men are getting on edge."

"This crew needs a rest."

"It's finally hitting them Mark. Their old lives are gone. The only thing we have to look forward to is this."

Goradin witnessed this happening from the side-lines. Strange as it may be, he did not know how to react or what to think of this. To have this happen on a ship of war in a warzone was generally seen as an outrage. Maybe he had to ask the commander for an explanation. In any case, it didn't leave a good impression. When he walked out to his cabin at the end of his shift he started to think this over.

In the meantime Major Burke had sent the entire Viper wing back to Invictus as he and his flight of four took the first CAP. "Not that I am not honoured to sit in my Cockpit for the next three hours, but why did you chose me?" Mercer asked.

"Take a guess?"

"Cause the silence before the Storm!" Answered Juke in No4 while laughing.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well it isn't exactly a secret what you said during your training flights. Very entertaining if I say so myself. I wondered what it would look like up close!"

"Be careful what you wish for No4. You might just get exactly that!" a few started chuckling before Bingo got back on the radio.

"Alright that's enough. Let's get a CAP going before someone does something stupid. Follow me."

As he turned, the others followed in a more or less perfect V formation.

In the next two hours the resupply operation went on as planned with no further attacks. In the last hour of the patrol, Mercer could see the lumbering Battlestar gliding slowly towards its new posting in the distance. The Rear guard. DRADIS was already showing the Gothic class cruiser Sword of Orion at the edge of the system, waiting for them to arrive. Though he had flown close by ships twice the size of the Orion, it still was an impressive sight to behold. Great gold-lined prow displayed proudly, massive and unknowably ancient six-barrelled Lance batteries scanning the area around the vessel. Its very presence demanded respect and oozed authority. Before setting down on the flight deck he might just sneak in a close Fly-By. Maybe not the brightest of ideas, but it was tempting….

By the time he set his skids on the deck, the Invictus had joined up with the Rear-Admiral and was well under way to its new posting.


	8. Fall of Barbarus

**Response to review from** **RandomReader** **regarding the apparent 'friendliness' towards Invictus. This is something that I'm aware of and why a lot of thought was put into** _ **why**_ **,** _ **where**_ **,** _ **who**_ **and** _ **when**_ **Invictus finds itself in the Imperium.**

 **This story is set in Gothic War. A time when the Imperium made a 2 year-long alliance with the Eldar (even though that was temporary and came later when the situation grew even more unstable) and it's been suggested that pretty much anyone at all who was willing to help the Battlefleet was accepted into the ranks of the navy; done due to a lack of contact with the wider Imperium and the sheer pressure being applied to the sector meaning the battlefleet was struggling to contain it's many enemies on its own.**

 **I know that still doesn't answer the whole 'friendliness' that's where admiral LaHain and Ravenburg come in. These are important and high ranking people who have a certain preference for carriers, battlefleet Gothic desperate to reform its fleet into a carrier-based one despite opposition to modification to existing warships from both inside and outside the battlefleet. The lack of carriers in the making pretty much any carrier of high value to them. Add onto that that Invictus saved the life of a high-up admiral and not some random captain, and it was basically decided to take them under their wing but keep a close eye on them.**

 **That is why Invictus is receiving info from Ravenburg directly, received no retrofits and was basically told to bugger off and look after some pirates and convoys. As will be shown in this chapter, she proves loyal and capable enough for that, but will be tested further in a mission that will be teased at the end of this chapter.**

 **It's a very specific scenario, and one that Price could count himself lucky for if he knew how the Imperium normally operates. Hopefully though, that clears a few things up.**

 **I'm not ignorant to the way the Imperium 'should' act, and normally I'd completely agree with your judgment.**

 **Anyway, on with the chapter!**

 **Chapter 8**

"Sir, as I said just now, we can't go close to that asteroid field. We are practically blind in there."

"I am not interested in excuses Commander! You will carry out this order or I will have to report to HQ that you are unwilling to carry out orders. I doubt they will like what I have to tell them."

Price had been on the horn with the Rear-Admiral for the past fifteen minutes. In that time he tried to advice on the best place for Invictus to take station. For some reason he couldn't get through. The man thought him an unwilling coward and didn't take him seriously. He had no choice but to say yes and carry out the orders in the best way possible. Frustrated he slammed the phone down in the horn-nest. "No luck with him?"

"Indeed Mark, I just can't get through that thick skull of his. Just what we need, an Admiral with a stick up his ass."

"We'll see how this turns out. Are we the only one in that specific sector?"

"No, there'll be several ships nearby. But I am not sure if they will come to our aid if we ask them to."

"Only one way to find out."

"I'm afraid you're right. Well, no sense in sitting still. XO, set a course to the asteroid field on the east-south-east corner of the system. It'll take a couple of hours to get there. Have the pilots and gun crews in their racks. Let them rest a bit while they can."

"Come to think of it. You've been holed up here for almost twelve hours. Maybe it's time you catch a few hours rack time."

"That does sound awfully nice. Can you take care of things here?"

"Aye sir. I'll let you know when we get close to the new AO." Price nodded and walked away to his cabin. When he looked back through the CIC hatch he saw his friend relaying his orders. He knew he would not fail him, but nevertheless he always looked back through the hatch. He never knew why. Maybe it was just an old bad habit.

He turned a few corners and bulkheads before he got to his cabin. He had barely sat down when he heard knocking on the hatch. He unbuttoned his jacket a bit before answering.

"Come in."

The young Imperial Lieutenant stepped through the hatch and walked to the desk before snapping at attention. "Stand easy Lieutenant. How can I help you?"

Deamus relaxed his stance and handed the Commander a data pad. "The recognition data on known ships you asked for."

"Ah yes, thank you. I'll make sure the right people get these in a few hours." he paused for a moment before continuing: "But I guess this isn't the only reason you stepped into my cabin."

"No sir. Permission to speak freely?"

Price nodded "Pull up a chair." he said before picking two glasses and a bottle from his desk. He poured whiskey in the glasses and offered Deamus one, which he accepted.

"What can I do for you?"

"I don't know really how to put it..." he started.

"Just speak your mind Deamus"

"It's Colonel Howard, Sir. I have the distinct feeling he seems to disagree with me."

"How is that?"

"He is keeping me in his eye constantly. His expression isn't always that kind either. Reminds me of my old captain in a few ways, but his dislike stands out on this ship." The Imperial officer mused, the last part largely to himself. There was a brief pause.

"Howard has always been a bit intimidating. Nothing to worry about."

"I know sir, but this isn't like that, I've known many people I'd describe as 'intimidating' and Howard doesn't scare me. This is slightly more severe, which worries me, even if it's only slightly. I didn't really realise it at first, but when the navigator snapped, what was his name again?"

"Specialist Tandor."

"Yes, that was him. When you two had calmed him down I was watching from the side-lines. Honestly I didn't know what to think of it, I was half tempted to smack him around the head and drag him out, but I wasn't ordered and I wasn't sure you'd appreciate that…" He stopped for a second to check he hadn't said too much, but Price remained passive and unreadable "Anyway. I caught the XO keeping me in his eye more. I was wondering if there is a problem I should know about" He paused before remembering to add: "with respect to the Colonel of course." Somewhat hesitantly.

"Mark, or Colonel Howard to you, doesn't seem to understand you. He is a good man and stands for his crew. He's hard but fair. He has told me lately that you react arrogant in front of the crew, from the heights down, in his eyes. Now this may or may not have been your intention, but this is what he sees and doesn't like. Especially now."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you walked through corridor C25? The one with the pictures a bit to the right of the CIC?"

"No, I haven't been to that part of the ship yet. What about it?"

"It is just another hall in the ship save for one thing. It's a memorial. Maybe you should take a look at it some time."

The mentioning of a memorial did raise an eyebrow on Goradin's face, the Imperial seeming a bit puzzled and surprised by the idea.

"Back at Port Maw, did they tell you why this ship is out here?" Price asked before taking a swig of whiskey. Goradin shook his head.

"We are here because we lost our home. I won't go much into details now, but the gist is this. Before all of this happened we, all of us, were living relatively comfortable lives. Many of us had a home, a wife, family. Wars like these" he pointed at the DRADIS screen behind him with his thumb, "Are just about unheard of where we come from. Now, we've had our own conflicts in history, but the only one on a similar scale was fought out about forty years ago. And then about two months ago now we were attacked by our own creations and just about wiped out. Our planets were nuked together with our friends and relatives. These men and women" he gestured around with his hand, "lost everything and everyone they hold dear, save for the ones on board this ship. Especially Howard. He lost his family, his home. And all the while he is expected to do his job. He takes this hard and does not allow anyone to put any more stress on them than is absolutely necessary."

A silent pause fell between the two men. Goradin was silently sloshing his drink about a bit before he took another swig. The stuff was strong.

"So you're saying I put too much stress on the crew?" The Imperial genuinely shocked at the idea, he'd been purposely holding off on old habits.

"No. Personally I haven't really seen you do anything wrong. Your command style isn't mine, but that isn't really a reason for me to order you to change."

"Then what should I do?"

"Talk to Howard. Try to get along. Get a mutual understanding of each other. Let him get to know you. And maybe take a look in C25. But if you chose to do that make sure you mean it."

Another silence fell. Price could see the young officer in front of him thinking. He took a final swig to finish his drink and stood up. "Thank you, for the… help… Commander"

"No problem Deamus. Think about what I've said."

"I will"

Both men shook hands, Deamus put his glass down and walked out of the cabin.

A few hours later Price reappeared in the CIC. He didn't give a hint to anyone that Deamus came to his cabin, and thought it best to keep it between them for a little while. Looking up on the DRADIS screen he could see a few ships duking it out in the distance, far away from his AO. To the front of the ship all dradis could see was a big mess of stuff floating about. They wouldn't be able to see in there, no way no how. If they'd even stand a chance of looking inside that asteroid field they'd need to send in an armed recon. He didn't like sending men in unknown territory, not knowing what is in there. He had no choice. He picked up the horn from the command table and keyed the right channel.

"Flight-Ops, Command. I need an armed recon section to scout out the asteroid field up ahead. Further instructions follow"

His order was acknowledged before he put down the horn. He looked up again at the DRADIS console. Nothing but random static and intermittent contacts ahead.

Lieutenant 'Duster' Andrews walked up to his Strike Viper in the middle hangar deck. The ground crew had already finished arming and fueling his bird and were finishing the last procedures. His crew chief walked up to him. "Hey chief, how is she looking?"

"As good as I can make her LT. Most of the damage was superficial, but I did have to change out the right wing hydraulics. They could've kept going for a while but I thought it best to get them overhauled."

"Thanks chief, Appreciate it." Duster replied before stepping in the cockpit. His WSO had already taken seat. "Ready Wizzo?"

"Was born ready Duster. Let's get her started up!"

The men started the sleek striker up with professional speed. Within minutes the remaining red safety flags were removed and the canopy was closed. The inner launch tube door opened to let the spacecraft in. Within moments the sleek Strike Viper shot out the launch tube and set course for the asteroid field. He was one of the third wave of recon craft sent into the field in the last few hours. The previous recon missions found clusters of mines bound to asteroids and traps in the shape of asteroids with crude engines strapped to them. There was no sign yet of the enemy. Maybe he would be the 'lucky winner'.

About ten minutes after launch the small recon craft entered the outer fringes of the asteroid field. Taking a quick look down, Andrews saw his ship's DRADIS sensor system going crazy. With so many asteroids flying about the poor system couldn't keep up and kept displaying false echoes and static clutter. Moments ago his Wizzo had already sent a message to Invictus indicating they entered the field. The Weapons Systems Officer in charge of targeting and jamming systems was always called the Wizzo. Just another abbreviation bastardized by the men who actually used them.

"DRADIS is going crazy here. You have anything on scope Wizzo?"

"Negative Duster. Nothing but static and false contacts here. Old style only."

"MK1 Eyeball?"

"Yep"

Mk1 Eyeball. When sensors failed all you had left to rely on were your own eyes. Just like the old days where men had just learned to conquer the skies. Now they were doing this in outer space, hundreds of years later. Though all pilots and crew were trained to never fully trust sensors, no one ever liked flying entirely visual. Especially in a field like this where every flying chunk of rock could be an enemy fighter or hide one behind it. They all knew the stories all too well of the men and women of the Battlestar Calypso who fought the Cylon machines in a similar situation decades earlier.

The Cylon raider often enough lied in wait behind rocks like these until an unsuspecting viper flew by. Before the poor bugger had realised he flew into a trap, the fighters had already transformed him into a burning wreck. Many good pilots had lost their lives that way. Duster had no intention of him and his Wizzo suffering a similar fate. Carefully he flew deliberate routes and sneaked around like a cat in the night, slowly peaking his nose around the corner looking for any sign of hostiles. In the back seat the Wizzo was acting as a second pair of eyes while at the same time looking for heat signatures or any sign of sensor radiation. Just looking for any sign they were seen to give them that split-second extra warning.

For the first forty minutes inside the field the pair didn't see any sign of enemy spacecraft, save for a few mine clusters and asteroid traps which they carefully marked in their NAV-system. The relative peace and quiet was somewhat nice but it didn't put any of the men at ease. At any moment they expected to find a fighter patrol or a small frigate around the corner. What they found they could not even dream of. As they rounded another larger than average asteroid they found themselves in a big open space. Like an open field in the middle of a forest. At the centre they saw three huge asteroids linked together by beams, walkways and the sort. The asteroids themselves were too large to justify the name. Each of the humongous rocks was clearly hollowed out for bases and a makeshift spacedock. The dock itself was big enough to park a couple of old Jupiter class battlestars in there. Anyone flying outside of the field could sail by and never see this hidden base. Around the entrances numerous gun emplacements were hammered in the rock. There were many anti-fighter/bomber turrets and main gun turrets present, though still quietly embedded in their nests. Clearly unaware of their presence.

The clearing and the docs were filled with numerous escort craft and a light cruiser, just sitting there. Hangar decks imbedded in the nearby rocks were filled with fighters and bombers of almost every shape and size while some of those craft were silently whizzing about between ships.

"Wizzo, are you seeing this?"

"Copy that Duster…" both men were struck with awe for a second before snapping back to reality.

"Get on the scrambler and connect me with Invictus. They've got to see this…"

"Comms - Commander? Echo 5 is on the scrambler. They've got contact."

"Connect me to that patrol. Echo 5 - Invictus actual go ahead"

"Commander, we're transmitting a download. You've got to see this.

Wizzo connected his targeting pod to the comms array and panned the camera around, giving the men on board the Invictus the same view they had…

"That's a lot of ships massed out there…."

"Oh my Gods, it's a staging ground. They are preparing an offencive here."

"You got that right, Howard…."

Lieutenant Goradin wasn't listening to both senior officers. He was busy counting enemy ships by classes and squadrons. Escort craft of just about every origin were massed there. Both chaos and imperial. Undoubtedly there were more tucked away somewhere inside the rocks that they couldn't see yet. Most likely the pirates down there were already aware of their presence.

He was the first one to tear himself away from the pictures on the screen.

"Colonel, Commander. We must pull back the recon patrols NOW. Most likely they are already aware of us being here. We are on borrowed time."

"Agreed. You copy that Duster?"

"Ahead of you Invictus. Gunning it for home."

The connection ended there.

"Action stations!" Once Price gave the order buzzers began sounding and alert lights began flashing. Within thirty seconds every bulkhead on the ship was sealed and every able man was scrambling to get to his post. Fighters were refueled, pilots jumped in the cockpit and loaded into the launch tubes ready to go. Point defence turrets swiveled around and the main turrets rose from their nests, facing the asteroid field.

The sensors detected large IR signatures starting to grow from inside the field. Ships were preparing to attack.

"We don't have much time, John…"

"Mr Goradin. Compile a high priority message to Rear-Admiral McCallun.

Message reads: Large pirate force staged in asteroid field area preparing to attack, break.

Pirate offencive imminent, break.

Request immediate reinforcements or risk losing flanks.

Send this with the proper priority codes. Include the recon pictures we've taken."

Goradin wrote the message down and quickly walked up to the comms to carry out the order.

While waiting for a reply the crew prepared to repel any and all attack they could face. All the while they expected some sort of reinforcements or orders to help them face the threat.

But no reply ever came….

"Still no reply, Deamus?"

"No sir." came from the Comms console.

"Howard, hail them yourselves. Explain to them if you must. Get us reinforcements!"

The Colonel walked away and connected to the Sword of Orion, transmitting the Intel.

Across the room Price could hear the frustrated grunts of his XO, trying to convey the message and the importance of it.

"Are they receiving?"

The Colonel took the horn from his ear and smacked it down on its nest.

"They can hear us alright. Command has their head up their arse. We're on our own."

"Gods damn-it!" Price cursed and punched his fist on the charting table.

For a few brief seconds the eyes of the CIC were fixed on him. All kinds of scenarios went through his head, frantically trying to find a way to turn the tides. One less likely than the next. He had no choice.

"Mr Goradin, give me all local Imperial Navy frequencies on the horn pronto!"

He raised the mic to his head and looked for the thumbs-up from the comms specialist.

"This is going against all Imperial protocols Commander…" Goradin began, seeing the intention of the foreign officer.

"I know Lieutenant, but we've got no choice."

"This is Commander Price from the Battlestar Invictus stationed at the rear guard. We've got a Pirate offensive incoming and are severely outnumbered. We need immediate reinforcements or risk being overrun. Requesting all nearby units to assist. I am standing by….."

And with that he released the squelch button on the horn. Now he could only wait and hope for a reply. He took a quick questioning look at Goradin as if he asked him who would answer. The young man could only shrug his shoulders and wait.

Just before the Price had almost given up, the comm system crackled to life.

"Commander Widman responding to Invictus. I've sent Bravo Squadron to assist you. Take good care of them, Commander!"

"Alien Bane responding to Invictus. Send your coordinates and details on enemy strength and positions. We will assist ASAP."

Signs of relief could be seen on many faces around. Now they may actually able to pull this off!

"Get me their positions." Price ordered as he pulled out the tactical map.

Meanwhile Andrews in Echo 5 had landed aboard and transferred all data to the ship's data computer. His craft would soon be rolled out and prepared for anti-ship strikes. By this time all launch bays were loaded with squadrons of Mk II and Mk VII Vipers, all ready to launch within seconds.

They wouldn't have to wait long.

On the sensor screens they could see swarms of small craft emerging at the edge of the asteroid field, ready to attack. Colonel Howard ordered all batteries on full FLAK. "All batteries to full power. Stand-by enemy suppression barrage."

"Ninety plus enemy raiders closing in on bearing 285 mark 48." the sensor operator called out.

"Enemy suppression fire, all batteries execute." The moment Price gave the order the entire back and port side of the ship erupted with muzzle blasts. Clouds of FLAK shells raced towards the incoming spacecraft and exploded just in front of the formations, forcing them to fly though.

Within seconds the barrage shredded the first few fighters and threw shrapnel at the rest, forcing the formation to change direction.

"Perimeter established" Came from the battery control.

"Launch Vipers."

Flight Sergeant Mercer Trune had been sitting in his cockpit for the past ten minutes waiting for the order to launch. His engines were humming at idle and all systems reported green, ready to punch out of the Launch tube at a moment's notice. "Cleared for launch" Sounded in his headset.

The outer tube door opened, the catapult locked on his skids and he shot out the tube. This time he didn't have any trouble keeping his fighter stable. He could see his squadron mates clear the tubes left and right from him while a mass of fire flew over his head to the enemy fighters.

There was no time to form up. They had to go in now and hard.

"Broken formation" Ordered Bingo, "Razzle dazzle, don't let them use their targeting computers and for Frack's sake stay out of Invictus' firing solution!"

"Copy that!"

The formationless viper group sped towards the incoming craft. Both pirate and colonial groups turned to face each other and opened fire at point blank range. Las blasts and 35mm railgun rounds ripped through the two formations. Some vipers were hit from the get go, all those hit bursting into flames and spiralling away or exploding. Three were destroyed in very short order to the pirate volleys. Mercer could see number 5 on his right being thrown out of the cockpit of his exploding Viper, having taken a direct hit from a Furies' Lascannon. Ahead of him enemy fighters were being succumbing to the guns of his squadron and fell apart, burning, or hard their cockpits smashed and marred with the remains of their former pilots.

Moments later the two forces collided with each other. From that moment on, the fight had really begun.

Through the furball he did everything he could to follow and cover his leader while he engaged pirate spacecraft. But in a fight like this it would only be a matter of time before one of them would find themselves alone in the fight.

Suddenly he caught a glimpse of two enemy fighters diving down from above. He called it in:

"Bingo-Storm, double bandits left 10 high, Committing" and he burned upwards to force those fighters to break away. He lined up the shot and for the first time he pulled the trigger. Both his guns lit up in anger, throwing a dozen shells at the enemy every second. He could hear and feel the guns barking in his craft. It was a powerful feeling. His shots connected and tore into the first fighter, ripping off a secondary wing and seting fire to its engine; the larger craft falling away below them. The second broke away and turned back in to reengage.

"Bingo. Got visual. Continue press. Your lead." he ordered while getting behind his wingman. He was now covering Storm. Only to find another fighter closing in on his squad mate from a different angle.

"Storm, break right NOW!"

Without looking back Mercer yanked the stick right and pulled a 7G turn to evade, knowing Bingo would clear his 6 O'clock.

"Bingo-Invictus, heavily engaged. Mission outcome doubtful." sounded through the speakers.

In the CIC the command centre was flooded with combat chatter. The sound was awful for anyone present to hear. Price had already launched every frontline fighter he had. All there was left were empty reserve fighters and the strike units. He was seriously considering launching the Strike Vipers to assist as he heard the incomprehensible shouts and screams of his pilots, as they were locked in the viscous battle of life or death.

"They're getting cut to pieces out there." Goradin remarked, noting the attrition rates where unfavourable.

Price and Howard could see in his eyes that the young officer knew the sound of fighting pilots, and he knew a losing fight when he heard one.

"How long till reinforcements arrive?"

Goradin quickly switched between the tactical map and the DRADIS screen, looking for the contacts of both Bravo squadron and the Alien Bane. "We're looking at around 15 minutes for Bravo squadron if they're burning hard. Alien Bane will take no less than 25 minutes to get here."

"We're outnumbered four to one. We can't hold them off that long." The XO said to no one in particular.

"Get strike squadron 1 and 2 to drop their heavy payloads and into the tubes. Keep 3 and 4 on strike loads."

"You wanna do what?!" the XO called in disbelief.

"These ships are still very manoeuvrable. Their guns are loaded and they can carry four anti-fighter missiles each. We need to even the odds. No choice."

Howard swore inside and relayed the order.

On the hangar deck crew were scrambling to get the heavy anti-ship missiles off the wings. Usually this process took some time to do, but the veteran crew chief had to get them in the tubes and away as soon as he could. So he got the pilots in their cockpits, put ordonnance carriers underneath the missiles and put the arming pins back. With the missiles on safe he let the pilots blow the release bolts, letting over a hundred pounds of explosives fall with a bang on the carriers. It was a gamble, but knowing how the arming systems worked he was sure this worked. Anyway, he figured with the situation as it was, playing it safe would leave no-one left alive to doubt his decision.

Within two minutes he had a flight of ten birds ready to fly. The moment the missiles were gone they were shoved inside the tubes and shot into space to join the fray. Although the strike vipers were less manoeuvrable than their fighter counterparts, they were faster and could burn away fast to get some distance and use their missiles. It wasn't perfect, but it evened the odds a little. With FLAK to cover one end and vipers to help cover their tails, the strikers were surprisingly effective in taking down enemy fighters. Hitting them once in locked on wasn't hard. The enemy craft were significantly larger than a regular Viper.

Outside Mercer and the rest of his squadron were fighting for their lives. By now he had already killed about five of the raiders and damaged a dozen others. He had only two missiles left so he had to make them count. He and Major Burke were rotating lead in turns. The one to first see and fight the enemy took lead while the other covered their six. Every now and again they had to evade other fighters duking it out and emerging smack-dead in front of their noses.

"Bingo, one at front-level closing fast!" Mercer called in his mic while squeezing off a burst. The enemy fighter was closing fast with suicidal speed while firing his las-cannons. His long las-burst just missed by inches. Mercer's burst didn't and left the pilot a red smear in his cockpit, the cannon shells passing right through to the engine deck behind. The pirate plane erupted in flames and tumbled towards him. Mercer and Bingo could only just roll out of its way, while swearing, preventing a fatal collision. The wreck tumbled towards Invictus and would ultimately impact and bounce off its armor.

Seconds later Mercer felt his craft shake violently. A red light started burning and the alert-buzzer started wailing. He was hit on his right wing and was missing several panels, a las bolt having grazed it and nearly severed the Viper's wing. He left a thin trail of smoke behind but no severe damage seemed to have been taken, _still in the fight it seems_ Mercer assured himself.

His warning systems started shouting warnings, telling him he was locked and had a missile inbound.

"Storm! Go defensive! Missile!" Bingo shouted, while pulling heavy G forces. He keyed his jammers while trying to defeat the missile guidance-heads. Bingo tried to intercept the missile but couldn't get a shot. He did find the bugger who had launched at his squad mate and decided to return the favour.

His missile gave an eager growl in his headset, ready to fly. With the press of a button the missile was cast off from the wing mount. A fraction of a second later the missile computer ignited the missile engine and sped away to its target. The seeker head had locked the big IR signature of the massive fighter's engine. A juicy target. Designed to lock on viper-sized engines the missile head had no problems following the huge engine. No matter what the enemy tried, the fighter was doomed. No more than ten seconds after launch the missile drilled itself in the engine bay of its target, exploding inside. When the explosion had dissipated, there was nothing left but debris.

Mercer had managed to lose the missile sent after him, but only after he pulled a tight turn and burned upwards at the last moment. The missile overshot and flew around aimlessly for a few more seconds before exploding somewhere in the void.

"You still good Storm?"

"Took a hit, but I'm uninjured"

"Need to pull back?"

"Minor damage. I'm not that easy to be rid of! Let's go!"

And both fighters turned back into the fight.

By this time the space between the Battlestar and the asteroid field was filled with a giant furball. Spacecraft from both sides turning and weaving amongst each other at point blank range. Invictus had covered itself in a thick FLAK screen to take out any pirate craft that got through. Every now and again a small group of strikers and fighters had managed to disengage and regroup outside the furball. They were soon joined by FLAK bursts, forcing them to break up and disperse.

Every now and again Vipers ran out of ammo and made combat landings. Instead of rearming the craft on the spot, the pilot was moved to a reserve fighter ready to go and launched back into the fray. Though not everyone who managed to get back was able to be sent out again. Many vipers were hit and their pilots wounded. Lieutenant Williams had managed to land his bird, only to die moments later from blood loss. Fragments of a pirate missile that only barely missed having penetrated through the Vipers hull and cut deep through his thigh and legs.

In the CIC flight directors were guiding their groups to the highest threats. Battery commanders were busy directing the guns and damage control parties were busy compartmentalising any damage taken. Though the Flak screen was thick and the fighter screen well executed, some missiles and bombs did get through to hit the armoured hull. Within that logistical chaos of events both senior officers had their hands full. What Price heard next he had never thought possible.

"Commander, I've got the Orion on the line. Rear-Admiral McCallun demands to know why you've redirected his forces…"

"Tell him I'm busy!" Price snapped. He put the horn back to his ear. One of the last hits had hit the engineering section and caused a problem that needed fixing. The Rear-Admiral could go climb a tree for all he cared. He had no time to explain himself to some high ranking noble snob. A hard hit from a plasma bomb smacked everyone down to the floor.

They had been fighting for almost 17 minutes now. Luckily the viper squadrons didn't suffer many losses. Most of the time the fighters had managed to evade before getting hit in any serious way.

Most of the units were now out of missiles and were fighting with guns only. Some units gathered a small group of fighters and herded them in a cluster of FLAK fire, allowing Invictus to tear them apart.

"We've got large ships coming on our tail!" someone called though the radio. "Blue wedges and grey hulls. They're boxing us in!"

Mercer looked back though his canopy. Immediately he recognised the color codes and markings on the ships. "Storm to all Viper units. Those ships are ours! It is Bravo Squadron!"

Price looked up at his DRADIS screen and saw the tell-tale contacts of the Firestorm Squadron coming in from behind.

"Firestorm Squadron Bravo checking in. We were delayed with other business, commander. Alien Bane should come up within the next few minutes. Now let's kill some rogues, For Emperor and Imperium!"

Price connected with the ships and picked up the horn.

"Move in to our flanks and join your FLAK barrage with ours." and he put down the horn

"XO, tell our fighters to herd the enemy in the centre of the area. Let our FLAK tear em up!"

The close range FLAK of the frigates formed a new barrier: mighty turbolasers, missile banks and super-heavy auto cannon pelting out their contribution to the wall of FLAK along with Invictus, effectively boxing in the enemy squadrons. The longer ranged intercept cannons kept spewing out shells to make the centre of the area a massive confused fireball. The three ships together, in combination with the fighter force, managed to halt the enemy advances and tore the pirate craft to pieces. Attempts to break free were met with Viper groups forcing them back in. Eventually the enemy groups started to retreat back into the asteroid field, only to have the first of the pirate vessels to emerge.

Three corvettes and two Iconoclast destroyers were the first warships to stick their noses out, coupled with half a dozen sloops and gunboats for added defence. The Vipers pulled back and gave Invictus and the two frigates space to manoeuvre. The ships turned to face the incoming destroyers while all present ships started to blaze away at each other with all available batteries.

Though the pirate destroyers put up a good fight, they were soon reduced to burning hulks by cannon fire and lance strikes. Help from the Firestorm frigates breaking the pirates' defences. After that, the fate of the destroyers was sealed. Bravo squadron took care of the remaining corvettes not long after.

The pirates kept coming, despite the losses, but by this time Alien Bane had arrived and joined forces with the other units. Pouring its own lethal brand of death to the fray. Together the four ships formed a formidable battle line and managed to keep the enemy at bay under the leadership of Commander Price.

Hoping to exploit this opening, they kept the enemy occupied. In the confusion of all-out combat, Invictus had secretly launched a flight of BlackSharks armed with nuclear missiles. The flight of expert pilots had circled around the back and entered the pirate haven unseen. While the Invictus and reinforcements kept the attention of the pirates, the hunters snuck past observation posts ever closer to the pirate base. It took them a while to reach their intended target through the maze of rocks and debris, but they found the target nonetheless.

Though they were behind schedule, they launched the attack with professional conviction and speed.

This time the base was on full alert. Most ships were moving out of the base and towards the fight in close formation.

Once the group was close enough they launched their missiles, taking fire from the few gun ports and weapon positions that had been looking in the right direction. Half went to the base and the other half shot out after the largest ships they could find. The moment the missiles left the rail the BlackSharks turned around and flew back to base as fast as they could. Now coming under much heavier fire from the fully alert pirate emplacements. Shortly after the nukes detonated, huge chunks of rock were hurled in every direction. Some pirate craft not already underway to the battle zone were crushed by the chunks of rocks being thrown around.

"Multiple nuclear detonations detected inside the field, commander!"

"Good! Remain focussed. We've still got a pirate fleet to hold off."

He had barely finished that sentence before reports from returning Blacksharks came in.

"BlackShark one to Invictus. Invictus be aware, you have two capital vessels heading your way. Advice you prepare for fleet action."

Goradin turned back from the sensors consoles. "Confirmed inbound Commander. Looks like two Dauntless Light cruisers."

Price sighed and called out: "Get me Alien Bane on the horn."

After a few moments the comms crackled to life: "Alien Bane, Captain Harlan speaking."

"Commander Price, Battlestar Invictus. Captain, we've got two Dauntless cruisers inbound. My ship can't take that much firepower at once."

"We'll take one off your hands Commander. Give them traitors hell!" With those words Captain Harlan broke the connection.

"Get our remaining strikers back on board for rearm and refuel. We're gonna need them fast!" Price ordered.

Both ships started to turn broadside on to face the incoming foes, while Bravo squadron got clear to provide support when needed. The pirate vessels however didn't really feel like poking their heads out. Every now and then they emerged from behind an asteroid, blasted away a salvo and ducked back into cover again. Each salvo was answered by the allied fleet, but until Invictus had rearmed her strike craft there was not much they could do to chase them out.

After about twenty minutes repeating this way of fighting the Captain of Alien Bane grew tired of playing hide and seek. Without warning the Imperial cruiser turned all its lance batteries at the biggest asteroid it could train its guns on and fired, full discharge. The resulting explosion was not that impressive, but it did break the asteroid apart. Huge chunks of rock the size of entire city blocks flew in every direction. Repeating these blasts, Alien Bane forced the pirate cruisers to either come out in the open or get crushed between countless tons of rock.

This left the pirates no choice but to burn hard and try to break through. They were met with lance salvos and Macro fire from Alien Bane and the full broadside battery fire of Invictus.

"Commander" Goradin cried out. "We must turn the ship now!"

"What?"

"The prow lance doesn't care about your Armor. At the moment we're a huge target and without shields, we are vulnerable. A single good hit could cripple us!"

Price hesitated for a split second, weighing his options…. "Do it!"

The massive hulk turned to face the enemy head on. This came to save the ship from terrible damage. The lance blast meant for her engine and rear-dorsal turrets missed their target. Instead it cut a long glowing hot gash in the starboard bow armor. Some compartments were breached and air was sucked away before emergency bulkheads sealed off the area. They would lose twenty men in there...

Sirens started wailing and warning lights came blinked red on the damage control panel.

"We can't take much of this." Howard said quietly.

"Launch all wings!" Price ordered Goradin, the man who had been sitting at the dispatch position lying unconscious next to his station. The violence of the lance strike having caused his head to impact off of the console screen. The young imperial shot to the console and took over the station immediately, launching everything with wings and engines. "Birds are away!"

Price turned to the helm. "All ahead flank speed! 3...2….1… Hit it!"

The helmsman slammed the throttle handles forward. All eight rear engines roared to life, leaving huge burning flames in its wake. Picking up speed Invictus quickly moved outside of the lance's field of view, but not before a second blast cut a second gash along the starboard side.

Alien Bane had managed to chase the second dauntless cruiser away from the fight, giving Invictus the room it needed. Captain Harlan had every confidence in his ship's capability. She was designed to hit above her weight after all. This pirate traitor would not win here today!

By now both ships were turning around each other like fighting dogs. Each trying to get the upper hand while trading shells and lance blasts, each furiously savaging the opposing vessel. Maybe this opponent would put up a fight worthy of the Imperial Navy!

At the edge of the fight Bravo squadron was helping Invictus break the shields of the adversary with long range lance strikes. The two frigates could close in and join the fight at close range, but that would have to wait. Both Firestorm commanders agreed that Invictus would need the space to manoeuvre for now, considering the damage she had taken. Going head on with a lance vessel with no shields was asking for trouble. As far as Bravo squadron was concerned, Price could count himself lucky with the hits she had taken.

In any case, once the outsider ship was locked in a close slugging match, they would move in to provide extra support.

Closing the distance fast, even point defence guns were blazing away at each other. The enemy cruiser did the same, pummelling the battlestar's Armour with Macro shells. Though the Armour was tough and angled well causing many shells to deflect and tumble away, enough hits managed to cause damage. Both ships shuddered on the trading of impacts and explosions. The sheer violence of the brawling ships was seen at the other side of the system. Both the armour of Invictus and the void shield of the pirate vessel were ablaze with explosions.

By now Invictus had managed to get halfway beside the traitor vessel all the while pounding its shields with every gun that could shoot. "Brace for hard manoeuvres!" Price ordered. "Bow batteries, load Super-Density shells. Prepare for salvo fire on my command. Helm, main engines to idle, shift ten degrees starboard. Five degrees nose down. Bow thrusters to full reverse!"

Looking to the face of his long-time friend, Colonel Howard saw nothing but angry determination in his eyes to put it mildly. Clearly he had enough. Warning lights started flashing and sirens wailed their cautions. Pulling off this kind of manoeuvre at this speed was dangerous. If the rear engines didn't idle before the turn was initiated they would plow themselves in the hull of the other ship!

By burning the bow thrusters Price allowed the engine bay to overtake the rest of the ship in a rapid turn. Within a few seconds he had drifted the ship like a rally car to have the bow face the enemy vessel. "Bow batteries, FIRE!"

The Bow Batteries erupted in violent fury, unleashing their heavy armour-piercing shells and leaving muzzle flames meters long behind. The bow and dorsal batteries, in combination with the well-aimed lance blasts from Bravo squadron, finally broke the shield bubble and exposed the armoured hull of their cruiser adversary. The moment everyone was waiting for...

With the shields down every Viper spacecraft swooped in to attack, firing missiles at anything that resembled weapons, engines, plasma thrusters and the like. Some dare-devil risked a gun-run, raking vision ports and small-calibre guns.

Invictus kept pummelling the hull, her Super-Density shells penetrating and causing all kinds of violent havoc inside. Bravo squadron quickly moved in and blasted expertly aimed lance-bolts, setting fires, overloading systems and blowing holes in the hull. The sub-macro turrets raked the bridge, breaching the protective armour and sent the high-officers screaming into the void.

With all this firepower bearing down on the Light-Cruiser, it was only a matter of time before it succumbed. A combination of solid missile hits damaged Plasma-thrusters, causing the ship to spin slowly unable to stop it. Fires from lance-blasts reached the munitions chamber and heated the shells to critical level. The resulting explosion took out half the starboard broadside while fire fountained out the sides. A final salvo from the Bow batteries aimed at the engine-bay ensured the breakout attempt from the pirates was ground to a halt. The kill was claimed by Bravo squadron's 'Vigil' frigate. Its lance blast took out the generatorium, blowing the ship apart.

By the time the three ships had taken out the cruiser, Alien Bane had already reduced its adversary to a glowing-hot husk of molten metal and exploding shells.

The whirlwind and thunder flashes of violence suddenly died down, letting the dark void of space fall back near the asteroid field. The battle was over, leaving only the allied fleet to consolidate the forces and secure the area.

Rear-Admiral McCallun, enraged at Price for leading His forces, reluctantly dropped the issue and relayed new orders to the stranger ship. Apparently the higher-ups had different plans for them. Anyway, with that troublemaker gone he had his hands free again to make his own name in this theatre of war.

Priority message security code Aquilus

From: Battlefleet strategic Command Gothic Sector, Lord-Admiral Ravensburg.

To: Commander Price, Battlestar Invictus.

Regarding: Urgent Transfer

-Message begins:-

Babarus sub-system reclamation secure.

Orar sub-system under threat. Transfer at best speed to this sector.

Good hunting,

The Emperor protects.

-Message ends-


	9. Outsider leads

**Chapter 9**

After exchanging customary greetings to their comrades in arms based in the Babarus Costa System, Invictus jumped out to fulfil her latest orders. Before committing to the long and perilous journey, the ship docked at one of the deep-space stations littered across the entrance of the Warp-Passage. It wasn't a matter of choice. Theoretically the battlestar could hop across in a few jumps without resupplying, but the holes in her armour needed to be repaired, among other things like resupply of raw material for the guns and food for the crew. Holding off the pirate forces surely helped the Naval forces stationed there, but Invictus took a pounding doing so. Aside from the two scarred openings in her bow armour caused by Lance fire, the armour was riddled with dents, holes and craters from artillery fire and bombs, accompanied by laser scorch marks.

Seeing the damage first-hand from the cockpit of his own Viper, Price knew his ship had suffered. The huge number dings and craters from enemy guns and bombs… Well he had expected something like that. His own crew could hammer out those dents and patch up the smaller holes. But those scars from the lance. It was almost like someone took a knife to her face. Frankly the idea that a single weapon could make his armour irrelevant scared him a bit. The realisation sunk in that Goradin may have saved the ship from a crippling blow, and many lives by extension.

The ship itself was still combat effective. The structure wasn't damaged, the Missile-Silos were intact, most batteries still worked and all but a few compartments were intact. A few point-defence batteries had suffered though. A direct hit had barely missed the gun itself but blew the feeding mechanism away. This sight repeated itself on many gun stations. A few crews were unfortunate enough to get sucked out the breached hull. This brought the death-toll up to 132 souls lost, of whom 29 were pilots. A cruel touch of fate had a handful of them safely land aboard only to die on their wounds in their cockpits or in sick-bay. A bad way to go. Most men didn't mind dying in battle. Just get hit and die in an instant while fighting. This was not meant for everybody it seemed. Such is the way of war.

Knowing that several well-equipped stations were out there on the way to Orar, Invictus set a course and two days later docked safely for repairs. Dealing with the High-Born Imperial commander stationed there was a bit like playing politics, but the man was agreeable enough. It was clear he wanted a commission on a warship, not here. He did do his job however and did it well. Both officers briefed each other on the activities they came across. It seemed that the route the Invictus was taking was full of all sorts of nastiness. Chaos raiders, Ork pirates and Eldar corsairs. Price made a mental note to ask his Imperial Lieutenant about these potential threats.

The station command was theoretically shared between the Naval commander and a Mechanicus Magos who oversaw anything that had to do with tinkering and repairing the technology present on the station.

Between the two, the Magos was the one Price liked the most. Unlike the Commander, the Magos was quite content with his position. He was a peculiar bloke. For some reason, he had the habit of annoying the Imperial Commander from time to time by flashing his headlight at him when he wasn't looking, then pretending it wasn't him. The one occasion Price caught the Magos pulling off this joke, he had trouble holding his laughter. It seemed that this wasn't general Mechanicus-like behaviour, but Price didn't mind. A few light souls here and there were a welcome sight in a warzone. Though the many cables, hoses and something that looked like a robotic arm were sticking out of him were a bit off-putting, the light-hearted character quickly made all that fade away.

Both Station Commanders extended the invitation to let the Invictus' crew come aboard for some shore-leave. A part of the station was intended for merchant markets and travellers anyway.

As expected the crew was dying for some time off. After their shift, they went off in groups to explore the unknown called the Imperial Markets.

Men and women from different corners of the sector came together to sell their wares while others came to buy. Stalls were filled with exotic spices, strange mechanical contraptions, amulets, books and garments. The crew was warned to watch out for scammers, but it didn't matter much. Colonial credits were not worth much to the Imperial Merchants. The experience alone was enough for most. Price took the opportunity to see all this for himself. Looking for a good place to sit down for a drink, he came across richly decorated establishments, gentleman-ish clubs, your shady round-the-corner bar and even flashy exotic bars. It seemed that it didn't matter how far you went or how advanced a culture was, one of those bars were always to be found.

He walked up to a regular Naval Tavern and walked through the door. The main chamber was larger than it seemed from the outside. There was a surprising amount of wood and ironwork in the chamber. One could almost compare it with old-style taverns seen in those fantasy vids from back in his childhood. The walls were decorated with depictions of glorious battles and strange war machines. Some seemed like infantry storming alongside ridiculously large tanks while others were about giant combat robots duking it out. Regarding of how they looked, every image tried to be more glorious than the next. Finding a free table in the crowded place he sat down with Howard and Goradin for a beer.

"You can say what you want of these guys, but they do know how to brew a beer" Howard remarked. "Well, I haven't tasted one in months so I wouldn't know Mark. They could serve me lemonade and sell it for beer and I would never know." Price replied with a grin. The three of them just sat back and enjoyed their well-earned refreshments. While halfway through his drink Price, let his eyes go across the many pictured decorations pinned to the walls. He let his eyes rest on a black and white depiction of a soldier looking at the rising sun on the horizon. Over the horizon, being silhouetted against the sun, emerging towering humanoid robots carrying massive cannons on their shoulders and arms. Goradin noticed the interested stare on his commander's face and turned around to see what he was looking at. "Imperial Titans, commander. Have you ever seen war machines like these?"

"No, I can't say I have. We have tanks, aircraft and the like. But no walking robots the size of houses."

"More like several towers high. These machines are manned by the finest of the Adeptus Mechanicus adepts in the Imperium, we call them princeps. These machines can wipe out entire armies in a single stroke, or devastate continents."

The two colonials didn't respond at first, awed by the implications.

"Mechanicus… These are your engineers?" Howard inquired.

"In a way. They maintain and gather all knowledge of technology there is now, endeavouring to rediscover lost technology also. They operate and maintain all our war machines throughout the entire Imperium. Without them our ships wouldn't be able to go anywhere to start, nor would they very well exist. To say the Mechanicus is a very important faction in the Imperium would be a serious understatement."

"I reckon that Magos guy is one of their higher officers?"

"Correct. Most members of the Cult Mechanicus are Tech-Priests, each with their own field of specialisation. Next on in the line you have the Magos in charge of larger and more complicated machines. You can see them as your senior officers on a ship. The highest-ranking tech-priest is the Fabricator General who resides on the Forge World of Mars, the home of the Cult Mechanicus."

"Cult? You make it sound like some sort of religion." replied Howard.

"It is, to them. They revere machines, the more complicated the machine the more revered the contraption is. They will do anything to maintain it and keep it in working order. They will risk their lives to prevent others from desecrating them. On another note, if you insult the Mechanicus gravely enough they turn you into servitors. Mindless automatons. A word of warning."

"Noted" Both the Colonel and Commander gave each other meaningful looks as if to say: 'this will be _very_ interesting'.

"Who rules the Imperium? I don't suppose the Fabricator General does."

"No, that would be the Emperor, before he became entombed in the Golden Throne. Now the High Lords of Terra rule the Imperium in his name."

The mentioning of the name Terra did raise a few eyebrows, but for the sake of understanding the Imperium they kept silent.

"So a council of ministers of sorts. Wait, Back up back up. Entombed? I get the feeling I'm missing something here."

"Deamus, maybe it is best if you start at the beginning. Who is this Emperor and what happened?"

Deamus ordered another round for his commanders before continuing the story.

"All of this happened many millennia ago so most of it is lost to history. There are many stories, all different in a way but this they all have in common: The Emperor united the warring nations of Holy Terra under one flag before setting out to unite the colonies amongst the stars; The Great Crusade. During this crusade his oldest son, the Arch Heretic Horus, turned against him. Horus had a great lust for power and was jealous of his father's power and the love and devotion of his followers. This caused a Civil War, splitting the empire in two. The war waged for decades, across the whole of known space, almost destroying the Imperium. During his final confrontation, The Emperor fought Horus in single combat on the dark citadel of the heretical flagship.

Horus Brutally plumbed his father to the ground, nearly killing him, the Emperor, in his eternal grace, trying desperately to plead with his son and bring him back from damnation. Horus was one strike from killing him, the Emperor refusing to even defend himself or believe his son's treachery, when the figure of a mortal man; the saint: Ollanius Pius, threw himself in front of the Emperor in a vein chance to save him. Horus merely looked at him, gave one harsh laugh, and threw the man aside with his power-claw vaporizing him instantly. This galvanised the emperor, realising finally his son was beyond redemption, obliterating his mind, body and soul from existence with all his might. But mortally wounded and spent beyond even his boundless extremes, he fell into a deep sleep, and never woke up. That's the legend. Unable to heal the wounds he was entombed upon the Golden Throne. Now he holds vigil against the foul powers of the warp. The remnants of Horus's Heretic army were chased back to a rift between our space and the Realm of The Warp, The Eye of Terror. Legend has it that a Gloriana Class Super-Battleship, the Amphion, lead an armada across the Imperium and into the Eye of Terror to destroy the enemy that had attacked Holy Terra. They were never seen again. Some say the ship still guards the safety of loyal Imperial Captains when traveling through the Warp."

He paused for a moment.

"These are the same powers we are fighting under the name of Chaos."

It took a little while for the story to set in.

"So these remnants if you will, are the enemy we have faced since we arrived here?"

"Remnants would be the understatement of the last ten millennia but yes, they are. And they gain power as fast as we can cut them away."

"The war to end all wars" Howard remarked before taking another swig of beer. "We've all heard that one before."

"Thanks for explaining the way the Imperium works. I think we have a what we need for now. What can you tell me about the best way to get to Orar."

"Not much until I get a detailed map. There are generally two roads. The long road goes through a system called Anvil 206. The system is heavily fortified and is a frontline in the struggle against the Ork menace. I can go deeper on that subject later. The shorter and faster route is the 'Orar passage'. It is a direct route, practically a straight line towards the system. However, it brings us very close to the Grail Dark Nebula which hides mainly Chaos Raiders and Eldar Corsairs. Orks will be present in that area as well, but compared to the others, they are less of a threat."

Howard continued: "We know a bit about Chaos, or at least where they come from. What about these Orks you mentioned?"

"Orks live to fight. Almost literally. They have no regard for their own safety. It doesn't matter if they kill you or you kill them. If they have a good fight and stuff to loot they keep coming. Their ships are flying hunks of metal and rock with rockets strapped to them. They bolt as much armour and as many guns and torpedoes as they can get their hands on that heap of scrap and fly it off into combat."

"That doesn't sound like much of a threat."

"A single ship, maybe not. But that is the problem. Orks usually gather in hordes called a WAAAGH. When an entire horde comes knocking at your door, they are very much a threat to anyone standing in their way. Entire sub sectors were lost to the foul greenskins!"

"What are their ship's strengths and weaknesses?" Price asked.

"Well that is the point. No ork ship is alike. They use everything, and I mean Everything, they can find. Some have strapped rockets to an asteroid and used it as a battering ram. Most ships will have large guns, and many of them, but if we are at range we're good as gold. The greenskins can't hit the broadside of a barn with their guns. That's not to say they won't hit. Just less often…." he paused.

"Well, up until the point where they get close. Then they just pummel your ship and try to board. They keep fighting till there is no-one left alive. Then they loot what is left of your ship and sail on."

"Sounds like your run of the mill brawlers."

"Well, that's where you're wrong Colonel. You can outwit regular brawlers, but not orks…. Well you can, but they come in such numbers that outwitting and strategy become irrelevant. At the very least you'll get bogged down for quite a while trying to keep them at bay."

"Given the nature of our mission that is not really an option."

"Which leaves the Eldar. Not much is known about them. They were the rulers of a great civilisation once, long before the Empire made its mark upon the galaxy. They were, and still are, the most advanced species you will come across. Their way of doing battle is the opposite of orks.

Instead of charging at you while blazing away they use stealth tactics. Strike when no-one expects it, jam sensors, give false readings and be gone as soon as they came. Few have ever encountered them and even fewer have survived their attacks."

"You make them sound like the larger threat."

The Imperial paused, considering, "That depends on your point of view. Both are foul threats to the Imperium, but the Eldar are powerful indeed and they know how to deceive. But their powerful ships are also very much fragile. Once hit, they fall apart fast. The trick is finding out where to shoot. The eldar aren't stupid either. They know there are only so many of them left. So, they only attack if they think they can win. Many Navy ships use the Orar passage, given the circumstances, so we may be able to set up a naval convoy. With any luck, we won't even hear from them by that point."

"Given the urgency of our mission, I don't think we really have a choice. Going through the passage will take weeks most likely. Going the long way around will add even more to that list. Possibly a month. The battles could be over by that time."

"That makes it easy then" Howard remarked. "We make for the Orar passage and try to avoid these Eldar pirates along the way.""

Everyone agreed. "I must say, this is the first time I've had a mission route planned out in a bar over a beer!" Goradin said with a chuckle.

"Well, this is a first for all of us then." Howard replied. Crazy as it sounded, all three of them could see the humour of it all. The fate of every crewman of their ship had been decided, all over a pint of beer.

While the senior officers were enjoying their beers in the pub, Mercer had joined his squadron in another tavern close to the docking-arms for a celebration. It was a mixed party. Both to celebrate the memory of his fallen comrades and to celebrate him getting his wings. Officially his training as a pilot wouldn't be over for a few weeks, but since he had fought so hard and skilful during the last battle, Major Burke had awarded him his pilot's wings. No longer did he bear the junior's name 'Nugget' and became Flight-Sergeant Mercer 'Storm' Trune. Just a few hours after the battle, Major Burke had assembled the entire squadron in the Pilot's mess for the awarding ceremony. Even the skipper and XO were present and congratulating him on his achievement. The celebration didn't last very long though. The ship was damaged and was needed elsewhere. Between jumps, before arriving at the station, a sort-of funeral ceremony was held for the fallen. Those they could find anyway. The bodies were laid in one of the airlocks with an unknown flag over each body. Once the priest gave them the goodbye rituals they were flushed out the airlock. More than most Imperial crewmen would receive.

Still, now the ship was in port it was time to celebrate the dead. And because he was the only Imperial flyboy with knowledge of the local pub's it fell to him to find a suitable spot worthy of their drunken songs.

Most locations were just low-life drinking holes with beer that barely deserved the name. However, he knew of one pub, a bit remote on one of the docking-arms. He had been there before on one of his previous tours as a pilot. On the outside, it didn't look like much, but the beer was good and the music above average while not asking exorbitant prices. After their first beer, the doubters quickly changed their minds and gave their approval.

It didn't take long for the glasses to be raised for the fallen and their stories to be shared amongst each other. Even though he knew the lost pilots only a few weeks, he understood the loss. One of his recently acquainted card-game mates died in his burning Fighter.

Mercer had lost many men under his command. In a way, he knew how Burke must be feeling right now. Knowing where they were headed next, he doubted that there were more losses to suffer in the battles to come. In their fighters, the men and women were sharp and at their best. They would not fail if it were up to them. But off-duty tension was visible in their eyes. Some of it would flush out with the booze. All of them looked to the ship's skipper for guidance. It was all they had left from their home.

The larger part of the evening was spent drinking and letting the pressure off. A good beer always solved such problems. Just after finishing his beer the young lieutenant stood up and walked towards the bar to bring a new round for the three of them. This time he stayed away longer than the last time. Looking over his shoulder Price saw him talking with another Blue navy uniform, a higher ranking one with silver-gold stripes, before walking back with him towards the Colonial Officers.

"Commander Price, I presume?" the high-ranking officer spoke while extending his firm hand.

Price rose from his seat and shook his hand, then Howard did the same.

"Commander Lemere, captain of the Aquila. I heard from your Lieutenant here you are about to embark towards the Orar system."

"Correct. We have orders from Ravensburg to deploy there as soon as possible."

The mentioning of the Lord-Admiral's name brought a change in the man's facial expression.

"Direct from the Old Man himself?" he asked with a stern, questioning and mildly surprised voice.

"Indeed commander" Goradin replied. "We received the order in Security Code Aquilus a few days ago in the Babarus Costa system."

After hearing this reply Lemere seemed to relax his posture a bit. The Imperial commander was still somewhat surprised an outsider would receive an Aquilus-grade mission.

"Command must be desperate to scramble outsider ships." he said while sitting down with a sigh.

The others joined him.

He looked over to the young lieutenant with a firm, questioning look.

"They can be trusted Commander. The Invictus came to the aid of Admiral Lahain at Relay 571, escorted a convoy towards the Babarus Costa system with Alpha and Bravo squadron and held off a pirate flanking offensive with Alien bane and Bravo squadron. They have destroyed and incapacitated several escort ships and a pirate Dauntless in the past two months."

Lemere nodded in acknowledgement.

"And he pissed off Rear-Admiral McCallun." he added.

"Anyone who pisses off McCallun is a friend of mine." Lemere answered.

"Deamus, have you two served together?" Howard asked.

"Not directly. When I was stationed at the Enforcer Light-Carrier "Defiance", the Aquila and its Tempest frigate squadron were attached to us for some time. The Commander and I have met on a few occasions." Deamus answered.

"Works for me."

"Well, Commander. Since you came to us, what do you propose?"

"Going through the Orar-corridor alone is suicide with all the Corsairs hiding in the Nebula. I suggest going in convoy. With our combined arms, we may come out the other end in fewer pieces."

"Do you know more captains who share the same sentiment?"

"I think I do" Lemere said while waving over three blue uniforms sitting at the bar. Every single one of them were rough types. However, where Lemere looked like a more muscled brawler, the other officers were slimmer and paler in build, but had a more cruel and cunning expression on their faces. It was clear that these men had gone through hell and come out the other end. Responding to Lemere's gesture, the men walked over.

"What you got, Lemere?" one of the officers asked.

"Setting up a convoy Borzakov. You're going the same way, ain't ya?"

"Yeah. You know they're outsiders though, right? We even supposed to talk to these guys?"

"Ravensburg sent them." he replied simply. "Besides, they wouldn't be here if the brass didn't have _some_ trust in them, now would they? Now sit down Borzakov and stop askin' so many questions. This may be worth our while."

The three men sat down at the table. "You better not be Gakking us, Lemere."

Lemere waved the notion away. "Commander Price, tell us about your ship."

Price took a quick look to his XO, who shrugged his shoulders, turned back and started talking. He gave the commanders the same talk he gave Ravensburg weeks earlier in Port Maw, as well as combat experiences in Barbars Costa and the convoy escort for context. The escort commanders listened carefully and weighed his words in their heads, calculating what to do or reply with.

When he finished, the men let the words sink, weighing up their own ships against what they had been told before returning the favour.

Commander Ruhn started first. "A Cobra destroyer is, in essence, a silent assassin and torpedo runner. We prowl through the dark void stalking our target, then rush them while launching our powerful torpedoes at the enemy vessels; disappearing before they know what's happening. A couple of good plasma torp hits can cripple a battleship, easy. But, once we are discovered we can only run. We have little in the way of guns save for a few pop-guns for self-defence. Usually we travel in squadrons of 6 ships. However, my squadron was ambushed by Orks on our way here from Quinrox Sound. We lost two ships and a third is stuck in dry-dock. It'll take months before they can resume the fight."

"We simply can't wait that long." his neighbour added on.

Lemere went next. "My Tempest frigate is like your average Sword frigate, only larger and has heavier armoured at the front. The regular batteries were stripped and replaced with Melta Pulsars. A laser or lance-like weapon with a short range, but very powerful against armoured targets. We can outrun a Sword in a straight line, but can't follow in the turn."

"So we have stealth ships, a brawler and a heavily armed carrier." Howard summed up. "Interesting combination."

"Indeed" one of the Imperial Commanders replied, a growl in his voice from an accent alien to the colonials.

Goradin took notes both from memory and from the conversation, summing up the capabilities and possibilities before he reached a conclusion.

"We all have powerful and capable ships. But if we add it all up, Invictus comes out as the most powerful in this scenario, with its strike and battery combination."

Two of the destroyer captains didn't like it much that an outsider ship was more powerful than theirs, but reluctantly agreed with his judgment.

Lemere took the notes from Goradin and looked them over.

"Seeing as the Invictus was designed with the role of Flagship in mind, I think it best to give the command to Commander Price. From what I've heard from both the Commander and his Lieutenant he strikes me as a capable officer. Mission and men first, at least judging by the notes here, also has a good kill tally. Whoever he is, he doesn't play foul, right?" he asked Goradin, who nodded, confirming his evaluation.

The notes exchanged hands multiple times as every commanding officer looked them over.

One of the captains raised his voice: "You want to give command to an outsider?! Are you suicidal, or just stupid?"

"Commander, may I ask your name?" Price asked.

"I am Commander Geiss of the Silent Nemesis."

"Well, mister Geiss. As Goradin said before to your colleague, Mr Lemere, I take my job seriously. I aided Admiral Lahain when his ship was in dire straits against the forces of Chaos. I was inspected by Lord-Admiral Ravensburg himself and carried out the mission he gave me to the best of my abilities. I did the same at Babarus Costa under McCallun before being sent to Orar. If you do not believe that then believe this. I do not sacrifice any ship or soul under my command needlessly just because some officer said so. Therefore, I came to blows with McCallun."

A short silence fell over the table.

"When do we depart?" came from one of the commanders.

"My ship's repairs will be finished in about a week. So, we could cast off then, when all tests are complete. I suggest we rally on my ship at the earliest convenience to discuss the best way through the passage."

The men agreed and stood up from their seats, shook hands with the colonials and walked out the door towards their own ships.

"You better not break your word. I don't take kindly to liars." Geiss said, standing up and squeezing Price's hand before turning to walk after his squad mates.

Howard watched the scene come to an end with crossed arms. "This's going to be interesting."

"You may be right Howard. Let's see how this turns out."

 **Ok, so, the rate at which I release chapters for this is probably going to slow down quite a bit.**

 **Ghostrider, my co-writer for this crossover, is currently busy with life things. So Chapter 10 may be delayed by... quite a bit. Still, shouldnt take more than a month to get it together.**

 **In the meantime, my Codex entries will continue. Please let me know in your reviews of it what you'd want to see next: other fleet codex, or land based codex?**

 **Anyway, please do continue to review! It always helps. Have a good one!**


	10. No rest for the wicked

**Quick response to a guest review regarding defensive FLAK:** **I never claimed they could stop Macro Shells or Lance bolts, they operate on deterrence and obscuring targets vs 40K weaponry. Only things they can shoot down are ordnance and missiles, as they are slow or small enough for the battle star to outright destroy.**

 **And yes, guestnobody, I've gone for the 'incompetent commissar' in this rendition. But it's worth remembering, before you just let the Inquisition off the hook, that Commissars work for the Inquisition. The Commissariat is a child organisation of the Holy Inquisition.**

 **Chapter 10**

The small fleet was under way for about a week now with little sign of activity of any kind. Invictus kept up her patrols while the Cobra destroyers continuously scanned the area, feeding all ships with sensor data. Though the scope was clear, the commanders and officers were not at ease. While traveling this close to the GrailDark nebula, everyone had the feeling that they were being watched. It was almost as if the nebula itself was looking upon the five vessels as unwelcome intruders.

Just before departing, the commanders of the escort vessels came aboard Invictus to plan the exact route. Again, it was clear that these men were a rough bunch. Clearly, they'd seen a lot of bad stuff that Price and Howard rather not know the details of. Eye sockets sunken into heads, twitchy hands kept constantly on pistols and swords as beady eyes scanned sporadically around room.

However, Howard had them pegged from the moment they stepped aboard. Prove you can keep your word of loyalty to the holy navy, and not leaving anyone behind, and they will follow to hell and back.

For some reason, a fifth imperial figure had joined the commanders in the Situation Room. He wasn't part of the Navy, that much was clear. The man wore a black trench coat with red lining and inner sleeves, together with a pointed officers cap. Not the deep blue and pale white uniforms of the navy. According to Goradin, this man was part of a different branch within the Imperium that attached itself to the navy and guard on regular occasions. Something called the Commissariat. Whatever his purpose was aboard a ship, he didn't interfere or take part in the route planning in great part.

He just stood around, keenly observing for the most part. Stalking in the shadow of the 4 naval commanders in a way that was deeply unnerving to the colonials.

Price didn't care much about him at the moment. He had more pressing matters to discuss with the commanders.

With their combined experiences and knowledge they could avoid certain known hotspots of pirate activity. But they would still have to cross a lot of dangerous ground, Eldar territory. Some of which they had fortunately already passed without seeing any sign of the enemy, or any sign of anyone.

According to intel provided by the station commanders, a lot of imperial ships were already en-route. By now they would have seen someone. They had to have… or at least a plasma trail of some kind, indicating traveling ships.

But the route was entirely empty. No ships, no plasma trails, no debris, no comm traffic. No Eldar either. Nothing. Something was clearly off, and everyone present knew it.

None of the Commanders, Colonial or Imperial, liked it one bit and thus kept their crews close to alert. Ready to react within a moment's notice. As an added precaution Price had ordered radio-checks every one or two hours, especially if one of the destroyers peeled off to investigate a nearby area. Mostly unnecessary, but if someone got missing, they'd know it soon enough.

Right on time for his duty-shift, Price marched in the CIC to take the Conn. "Sit-Rep" He ordered.

He was answered by one of the junior officers on watch.

"All systems nominal, course steady at 236 by 75. DRADIS is clean."

"Fleet Report?"

"All ships have reported in half an hour ago, all report negative contacts as well."

"Very well Major. I have the Conn, you are relieved."

"Yes Sir" the man replied before walking off for his down-time.

"Where is the XO" Price asked at a nearby console operator.

"The colonel was called away to engineering. Something about maintenance."

"Alright, have you seen the LT?"

"The Blue should be around somewhere. Last I saw him he was looking at the fleet comms" he said while pointing toward the other side of the room.

'The Blue', so that is what they were calling him now. The crew was getting accustomed to having foreign officers aboard. Seemed like a good thing that they were giving him a nickname. Though they'd never say that name to his face and expect to survive his response. He was a very… passionate man. Maybe it was a good idea to explain this later to the man, should he lack the sense of humour and fly into a rage upon over haring his new name on board.

Walking towards the comms he saw 'The Blue' sure enough.

"Commander" He greeted sharply, looking up from his clipboard and bowing his head towards his superior.

"Morning LT. Anything of note happening around here?"

"Nothing sir. Aside from our regular transmissions, all we hear is the malicious void laughing at us."

Static bursts of radiation shooting across space always gave garbled sounds through the comms. Listening to the random burbling and garbles for too long could give a man chilling nightmares if he let his fantasy loose, so Price felt he could relate to Goradin's superstition for once.

"The universe can laugh at us all it wants for all I care. I just want to get through this area as fast as possible. This place gives me the creeps."

"I don't like it either. There's nothing out there we can detect, but still I have the feeling like we're being watched. Who knows what lurks in the shadow of the dark nebula…" Goradin muttering the last part largely to himself.

The next hour and a half Price just went about his duties, only to be disturbed by a call from Commander Rohr aboard the cobra 'Avenger'.

"Price" he started without naming ranks. "My observers have seen silhouettes of an Eldar destroyer stalking us in the distance. Bearing 192, same attitude."

Price snapped with his fingers and gestured Goradin to pick up the second horn to listen in.

"Rohr, please repeat your last" he said while taking a hard look at the DRADIS screen. Rohr did as asked. DRADIS showed nothing.

Goradin ordered the observers dotted around the Invictus' hull to look in the direction Rohr indicated. On the many surveillance screens both men focussed hard, looking for any sign of the fish-like shape of the enemy vessels.

After a few hard looks they managed to get a few quick reports and views on the small vessel. From the look of it, that ship had been drifting after them for quite a while.

"Confirmed. We see them as well." Price covered the mouth piece and ordered: "LT, Identify"

"Looks to me like a Hemlock-Class Destroyer. Eldar Pulsar lance-boat. We can't ID him yet though, holo fields are interfering." Goradin rapid fire reported.

Price nodded and relayed his orders to the convoy "Stand-by for orders. Do not engage unless fired upon."

Quickly he pulled up the navigation map and scrambled the navigator to assist.

"We're still some ways away from the estimated jump point" the man began while calculating in his head.

"It is doable though. We can get within 200k of our previous calculated exit point. If I adjust our present calculations, we can jump in under seven minutes." the navigator concluded.

"Do it" Price ordered. The immediately navigator sped away to perform his duty.

"Sir?" Goradin began questionably. He still hated early jumps, ingrained fears would not leave him. He'd rather turn and crush this lone destroyer than risk a jump, like any sane Imperial commander would.

"We're not here to fight them just yet, and we have no idea how many other ships could be lurking in ambush. Our mission is to reach Orar. Connect me to the fleet." he said while picking up the horn.

"This is Invictus Actual to all fleet vessels. We are being followed by an enemy vessel. More ships of unknown strength may be following as well. Fall in and begin Jump Prep to Point Bravo. Avoid combat if at this time."

"Stalker, Aye" Borzakov affirmed.

"Avenger, Aye" that was Rohr.

"Silent Nemesis, Aye" Geiss said with his raw voice.

"Aquila, Aye" Lemere voiced, only to be followed by a loud protest from the background.

A voice came back which Price remembered of being from the Commissar.

"As the Commissar of this fleet I deny this order, 'Commander'!" he said, spitting Price's rank out like meat gone foul.

"We are here to vanquish all enemies of mankind and as such they shall to suffer our wrath, here and now! We will not run like cowards when faced with such a pitiful force!"

"Make no mistake Commissar, I am no coward. But I am not about to risk our vessels on a wild goose chase with unknown consequences when it is not in my mission description. We have no idea what is out there. This vessel could have been shadowing us for quite some time while remaining undetected. Maybe as long as we entered this region. For all we know there could be an entire fleet out there. At this time, it is imperative to reach the Orar system as soon as possible, with as many ships as possible, just as Lord-Admiral Ravensburg instructed. I intend to carry out this order. If you wish to protest against my orders, I suggest you take it up to him, not me. Until then you are to assist in prepping your vessel for immediate Jump Action towards Point Bravo. Do I make myself clear?"

There was a deafening silence on the other end of the horn, shortly broken with a clearly angry growl before the connection was broken.

Looking up Price found Lieutenant Goradin staring at him as if he was nailed to the ground and he had just lit on fire. The way he talked the Commissar down... Not many officers in the Imperial Armed Forces had the guts to talk to a Commissar like that. Even fewer lived to tell the tale. Goradin didn't know whether to laugh, cry or just marvel at the sheer bravery on display before him. Regardless of future consequences he found, it glorious to behold a commissar being put in there rightful place in the Imperial Navy.

Similar thoughts where running through the heads of just about every Imperial who heard the exchange. One unfortunate LT on the Aquila receiving a bolt round to the skull from an enraged Commissar for no reason other than venting his incredible frustration and righteous fury at being unable to shoot the arrogant outsider immediately.

After making sure his entire fleet had jumped, the Invictus spooled up her FTL-drive and jumped out. Though Goradin had several jumps under his belt by now, but he still couldn't get used to the feeling. Neither did he stop his customary litany of prayers and blessings before jumping. He needn't have worried; but routine, faith and ingrained fears drove him to do so with each jump.

As expected the ship emerged at Point Bravo, slightly off course, but close enough all the same.

All ships checked in and were verified before resuming their place in the formation. The three Cobra's formed a spearheaded front, closely followed by Invictus and the Aquila lined side by side. Soon the first patrols emerged from the Invictus launch tubes and went on to recon the area.

Something was off though, the same feeling of being watched and stalked by an invisible force pervading to the second jump region, but that wasn't all. According to the star charts the edge of the nebula should be several thousand kilometres away from their present course. Instead they were practically sitting on its edge, looking into the grayish-purple stain on space. After looking at the charts and constellations again they found they were in the right position. Only the nebula wasn't.

"Either this map is horribly outdated or someone didn't paint it in the right spot…" Goradin muttered.

"It doesn't matter. Things move in space all the time. Signal the escorts to stay close. I don't want to lose them in this soup."

"Copy that. We should keep our heads down while we're here. We could have someone watching us in there. How long till we reach our next jump point?"

"If we keep our emissions down, four days. Maybe a bit more."

"Very well. Let's hope we can pass unnoticed."

For the duration of his shift nothing of note happened so both officers went about their duties. Afterwards they exited the CIC together and started walking towards their quarters.

Before they could step through their hatches, alert-sirens started blaring, warning lights began blinking their amber lights and a voice came over the intercom:

"Action stations, Action stations! Set condition one throughout the ship. Commander Price and XO Howard to the CIC…."

 _What now?_ Price asked in his mind and quickly went back to the CIC.

"Sitrep!" he barked at the ranking officer nearby.

"We've got reports of vessels nearby. Patrol 5 didn't report in and was overdue by an hour. The Stalker went in to investigate. The Vipers were found destroyed by energy weapons. Stalker was lucky to survive. A Hemlock destroyer swooped in and flew right past them at point blank range."

"How the hell do they get in so close without being detected?"

"I don't know Sir." The man concluded.

"Right… Get the Vipers in their tubes. And where is the XO?"

"Right here, Sir!" Howard replied while quickly walking towards the Commander, excusing the officer from his post.

"Order the fleet to stay at full battle readiness. Increase speed! No sense in trying to hide when they are looking right at you… Slowest ship gives the pace!"

His orders were quickly executed. Looking at his plotting table, Price wondered what his adversary had in store for them. Moments later Goradin took place between the DRADIS and Fire Control stations.

Usually the ship would rely completely on its own sensors, but because it was now in convoy, all sensors were linked, giving all ships better vision all around.

Since the Eldar were active now, they were visible on sensors from time to time.

Everyone expected them to attack at any moment. However, for the next twenty minutes everything was quiet. That would not last long.

Out of nowhere the shadow of an Eldar vessel appeared, flashing through the formation before anyone could react. When the guns were busy tracking the shadow, another appeared, followed by another at a different altitude and bearing. When closing, the shadows appeared as multiple small destroyers bearing down on the Cobra Avenger, Invictus turned her guns to defend and sent a barrage of fire their way. Only to find their shots would fly straight through them...

One of the many incoming destroyers fired three blasts with its pulsar lance. The first impacted on the Destroyers void shield, overloading it immediately, the second hit the base of the command tower and decapitated the bridge from the rest of the ship: killing the Destroyer's command staff. The final blast missed the destroyer and cleared Invictus only by a margin of mere meters, not causing damage but leaving glowing white scorch-marks along her spine. The Hemlock destroyer shot past and tried to align for a second pass but had to abort to avoid the combined fury of the convoy's batteries.

A Second Hemlock came in for a second pass mere seconds later and put two pulsar blasts into the Aquila frigate, striping the shields on the Strike frigate before disappearing again.

"What the hell was that? Six of them were closing in at the same time but only one fired?" one of the crew exclaimed, stunned by the speed and ferocity of the attack.

"That is because there was only one destroyer attacking us at a time. Two ships were relieving each other, keeping us under fire." Goradin explained. "Their Holofield technology makes it near impossible to find the real ship between the electronic and optical shadows. Only the real ship can shoot. So if you can target that vessel, kill it quick... But it's impossible to tell the fakes from the real ships until they fire."

Thirty-five minutes passed without another sign of the enemy before they attacked again.

This time Invictus launched one of its Viper wings to assist in repulsing the attack. But again, the convoy had no luck in dealing any damage to the Eldar vessels. The Vipers simply unable to get missile locks on the Eldar ships, or tell if what they were targeting was even real. The Eldar would swoop in at different angles, fire their guns and Lance to strip shield and pick apart key modules on ships, then swoop off into the misty soup. Like birds praying upon helpless field mice. If they did get hit by the defensive fire, the Imperial and Colonial crews found little evidence of it.

After a few of these battle 'cycles' some officers began to wonder what was going on. They were sure taking their time to secure kills…

"Why are they disappearing every time? If they make a concentrated attack they could destroy us in one pass!" Howard remarked.

"If they attack now, at least one of them will be destroyed before they can take us all out. They are keeping us on full alert. They will keep harassing us until one of our ships makes a mistake or gets separated. If we do, they'll strike and blow us into space." Price reasoned, discerning the tactics behind their movements.

"Not much we can do about that. They have the initiative. And without a signature to follow we can't take the fight to them. All we can do is firewall the throttle and stick together in the defence until we reach our next jump point."

Attack-day 5.

By now all crews of the Convoy had been fending off Eldar attacks for 113.27 hours on and off. Almost five days without sleep was taking its toll on the crews. Most were walking around with unbuttoned uniforms and unshaven faces. More and more crewmen were falling asleep against door-frames, bulkheads and on top of their consoles and had to be awakened from time to time by their neighbour. Even the Imperial Lieutenant, who still always walked around spotless and properly dressed, showed clear signs of fatigue in the long shadows under his eyes. He kept going though and commanded the tired men with in the traditional way of the Navy.

The ships of the convoy where not fairing much better. Avenger was missing her bridge along with most of her command crew and lost power to some of her auxiliary engines; a long scar appearing along her starboard side and gaping hole between two of her, now inoperable, torpedo launchers. Aquila had lost one of her dorsal turrets, debris trailing from the gaping maw left where it had been; but worst off where Invictus and Stalker.

Invictus' damage was largely aesthetic, but certainly looked the most severe. She had been battered by Star-Cannon impacts, the ship looking strained but, fortunately for Price, the hardy Battlestar had no critical damage. Stalker on the other hand was in truly dire straits, having serious engine problems and trouble with her Gellar fields.

The Commander and the XO were discussing the ship and crew status in the hallway, next to a comm officer collecting signature-forms. Though damage wasn't serious, the state of the crew was more of a worry.

"Twenty-one more cases of nervous exhaustion. That makes 105. Get the doc to put them on stims to get them back on their feet. One in four every cycle"

"That is gonna come back and bite us in the ass." Howard grounded, mostly to himself as he thought through the worst scenarios of men high on stims.

"Well, we have too much work and not enough people to do it. Tell the imperial commanders to continue to do as they see fit on their ships, but make the recommendation. Was this my ten minutes or yours?"

"Yours, I had my ten minutes last time."

"I'll see you guys in combat." Price ended before walking off to his cabin.

"One hour to jump point!" an exhausted navigator called out.

"Eldar attack incoming, Port side!" the DRADIS operator shouted.

"Action stations! Launch Vipers in defensive formation and give us a solid defensive screen. Force them to break off before they get too close." Howard ordered.

Goradin stalked the Battery Control staff. Slapping a few crewmen awake and barking target orders while Howard strained to analyse the enemy attack patterns.

"My gods, they are focussing on the Stalker!" Howard exclaimed before franticly waving to battery control.

"Batteries seven through Fifteen, redirect your fire to cover the stalker, Now! Shoot you fools, wake up!" Shouted Goradin, pacing like a man possessed behind the control staff.

The batteries turned and fired to form a defensive screen around the destroyer, a barrier of FLAK shells rushing out to cover the stricken Imperial escort.

It came too late.

By the time the screen was formed, the Eldar had already stripped the shields from the ship. Two Pulsar Lance blasts sliced through the destroyers prow section and spine, cutting the destroyer neatly into 3 pieces; spilling the ship's crew and vital innards into the void before it's torpedo armament exploded and engulfed the debris field and surviving human forms in vaporising plasma.

"Gods damn it!" Howard Cursed. "Navigation, get us out of here! Order the fleet to jump, Now!"

"We're not yet at our designated coordinates! We will drift from our exit point!"

"We are close enough! Jump the fleet before we lose more ships!"

Moments later all ships jumped towards their next destination.

All four remaining ships emerged close to each other. The ships seemed relatively intact, save for the Avenger who emerged from the warp with streaks of fire trailing from her hull.

Howard tried hailing her and offered assistance. All they got back were garbled transmissions and random data before the ship broke apart.

"What the hell just happened?" Howard asked. "They were intact when they jumped right?"

"What happened is anybody's guess. Anything can happen inside the warp. They might have been in there for a long time." Goradin said

"They jumped mere minutes ago!"

"Time has no meaning inside the Warp. What for us is mere minutes could be months or years for them. And they entering the warp early in a damaged state. It is the risk you run when making jumps outside of designated warp relays. _Especially_ when damaged as Avenger was." Goradin explained to the XO.

"Great. Now we're down two ships." Howard sighed. "Is there any sign of the Eldar?"

"Nothing yet Colonel." came from the sensors station.

"Keep an eye on it. Let's hope we won't see them for a while."

The next few days there was little sign of the Eldar at all. There were shadows moving in the background, but nothing came close enough to be a threat. Completely exhausted, the captains of all ships took the opportunity to get their crew rested and back on their feet. Still, with all those shadows and sensor shadows on the background no one was quite at ease.

It was even worse for the guys in the Vipers. It is easy to see ghosts in the clouds. And not having a thick battlestar's armour around you didn't help either.

Mercer and Major Burke were on patrol on the edge of the formation. Every now and then they peeled off to investigate an anomaly, but every time it ended up nothing. Just their minds playing tricks on themselves. They were about to return to the fleet when the DRADIS sensors started bleeping.

Looking down on their screens the two pilots only saw a faint, but massive, signal moving slowly to intercept them.

"Invictus, Bingo. We've got a Bogey on DRADIS drifting in on your starboard. Moving to investigate."

"Roger that Bingo. Be advised, Alert fighters have been launched and are two minutes behind you." came through the radio.

Price had just walked into the CIC when the alarm started blaring. "Sitrep!" he ordered.

"Bogey just appeared in DRADIS range, CBDR. From the size of It, it's probably a ship of the line. Strike Fighters are underway to intercept." Answered the XO approaching the Commander. "Constant Bearing Decreasing Range." he said to Goradin, answering his questioning look. "They are closing in on us."

"Unknown Vessel is launching Fighters! I count 30+ in combat squadrons, larger contacts among them, probably bombers!" the sensor operator cried out.

Returning his eyes to the communications array Goradin noticed strange signals embedded in the contact signal. After tapping a few keys one could see his eyes widen.

"Sir, I got Imperial Transponders!"

"Ah, they are using our own signals against us." Howard remarked.

"Maybe." replied Price. _They hadn't tried that tactic yet…_ Price thought to himself.

"Weapons hold! No one is to fire unless fired upon! Relay this to the fleet. Get me a ship to ship line, Priority channel One." he ordered before picking up the horn.

"Attention unknown vessel. This is the Battlestar Invictus operating on behalf of the Imperial Navy. Identify yourself or you will be fired upon."

For a moment, nothing happened. But the increasingly growing signature of the unknown contact suddenly stopped and It's fighter groups began circling as opposed to committing to intercept courses.

A few tense seconds later the radio crackled to life and a calm, but deeply authoritative voice answered.

"This is the Imperial Navy Super-Carrier Ark Imperial to the ship claiming to be the 'Battlestar Invictus'. Respond or feel her ancient fury!"

Ark Imperial? The mightiest carrier in the entire navy was beside them?! The Imperial lieutenant could barely believe what his ears were telling him. There where rumours she was active around the Orar passage, but he thought they would have passed this ship long ago with one of the FTL jumps. Apparently, the old ship was faster than he thought.

"Ark Imperial, Authenticate your ID with recognition codes immediately."

Another pause followed. The codes coming through after a slight, almost hesitant, delay.

A smile and confident nod from the Imperial LT told Price more than enough. The codes sent were authentic. Ark Imperial was flying beside them!

"This is High-Admiral Byzantine calling the Commanding Officer of the Invictus. You are a Non-Imperial vessel. Send your deployment orders and reason for being here immediately."

"You are speaking with Commander Price. Deployment orders are to reach the Orar system with best speed, given by Lord-Admiral Ravensburg himself. Coded transmission under way." Price replied while gesturing towards his communication staff.

"Stand-By" was the only reply that came back for a while. All the men could do was wait.

"He is probably talking to our escort." Goradin answered the question everyone was silently asking. "We are still outsiders. Codes alone are not enough."

"I guess we'll get to see the true colours of our convoy." Howard murmured under his breath.

Five minutes later the horn crackled back to life.

"Orders verified, Invictus. You seem to have the confidence of several Imperial commanders. Close formation and prepare to report to me with the other commanders in three hours."

"Understood Ark Imperial. Invictus out." and he put down the horn.

A great sense of relief filled the room. Instead of another enemy to fight they finally found what seemed like an ally, and a powerful one at that.

In his fighter, Mercer was ecstatic. The vast fighter formations of the Arc Imperial passed around the Viper formation, taking up positions around the supercarrier and convoy of escort vessels. The sight of Imperial fighters close to THE carrier of the fleet made the Flight Sergeant laugh in relief and joy. He never thought that he would ever see this legendary and ancient vessel with his own eyes, now he had practically bumped into it in a forsaken Nebula! This was certainly one of the more interesting days of the Imperial's life. Maybe they just might live through this. And with that though, Mercer and Bingo turned for home, wondering what surprise would come next.


	11. Ark Imperial

**Chapter 12**

Slowly and gracefully the three ships joined formation with the massive supercarrier. Though the Invictus with its three kilometres length was an impressive sight for anyone to see. She was simply a speck, however, compared to the majestic might of the Twenty-Kilometre-long vessel. The differences didn't end there. The Invictus was mostly smooth and, aside from a few main turrets and the lines of Point-defence Guns, had a flat and sleek appearance. Ark Imperial was littered with 'small' turrets. Small being at least tens of meters high and wide which boasted multiple barrels per turret, the ventral section mounting dozens of skyscraper-sized antennae for fire direction of the vast array of weapon batteries.

The entire broadsides were covered with launch bays, each as tall as city blocks, twelve double columns along each side. The launch bays were flanked by four lance turrets which were, hundreds of meters long, about as many meters wide and equally high. Each turret boasting six barrels, which themselves were of no small size. The turrets turning to survey the great void surrounding them with their imperious gaze.

Unlike most imperial vessels the ship didn't boast a sharp-looking, and well decorated, armoured prow. Instead it had a more blunt, sleek-looking nose devoid of decorations, aside from fleet colours. Just short of the bow, an entire complex of armoured superstructure, gold-lined and covered in antennae and sensor-discs, adorned the front-third of the ship. The middle section housed several dozen nuclear missile silo's firmly entombed in the central spine of the ship. And where the fore section was impressive with its cathedral superstructure, the aft section made the former seem like a mere village church. The main bridge was a huge complex of majestically ornamented cathedrals with richly decorated and finely crafted side-churches serving as auxiliary segments.

To see the ship with your own eyes was awe inspiring to say the least. Price had seen the vessel on the sensor and vid-screens within his own CIC. But now he was looking at it with his own eyes through the canopy of his Raptor shuttle was another matter. The realisation of scale and grandeur was finally sinking in, though he still barely could grasp it. He was on his way to report to High-Admiral Byzantane as ordered. He would have taken his own Viper, but given the circumstances it didn't seem like a good idea. So a Raptor shuttle it was, be it escorted by two Vipers, which peeled off when his craft set in for landing.

Slowly the relatively small craft floated through the gaping maw of the port-side hangar deck, which seemed to go on forever, and finally touched down with a gentle bump. Moments later the deck began to move the shuttle inside the bowels of the Carrier, into the pressurized upper crew-decks.

Two minutes later the Pilot got the green-light and opened the outer hatch of the craft. The four marines Price took with him, as a precaution and honour guard, exited first and took attention on either side of the hatch. Price followed soon after. When he looked up he was faced by two double rows of arms-men flanking his walkway. Whether this was an Honour-guard or a means of intimidation, Price couldn't decide. Probably both.

Slowly and with upright stance Price stepped off his vessel and walked to meet a heavily decorated man standing before him in the middle of both arms-men rows.

Though he had put on his best Dress Grays, he was pale and bare in comparison to the other officer. The Imperial High Admiral having row after row of medals and ribbons displayed on an ornate golden breast-plate, his Pale White uniform trousers lined with golden thread.

Price stopped two steps in front of him and saluted sharply as a fleet officer should.

"Commander Price of the Battlestar Invictus reporting as ordered."

The next few seconds both men looked each other squarely in the eye, assessing the other man.

Finally, the other returned the salute with two fists crossing his chest, in the traditional Imperial Aquila salute.

"High Admiral Byzantane of His Divine Majesty's Ark Imperial. Welcome aboard, Commander. Follow me to the Situation Room if you please. Leave your Arms-men here." Answered the man with a calm but uncompromising voice. "The others have arrived before you."

Price fell in line to the side of the admiral and followed him through the corridors. He immediately realised both men were flanked by the very same arms-men that formed his welcoming committee. He didn't know if he should feel like a guest or a convicted criminal. Either way, he did all he could to hide his discomfort. Intimidation always was a tactic to press others in line.

They went through corridors and bulkheads that were more than the name suggested. If anything, the corridors alone were tall and heavily decorated. Not bare and to the point like his Battlestar was. Ornaments and statues of many sizes stood in small altars imbedded in rows along the walls. Higher up towards the ceiling, thick walkways crossed paths between immense church-like archways. Every bulkhead or hatchway had stone-like skulls serving as consoles embedded at shoulder height.

Far below where more crossing walkways, though thinner and less ornate, more like simple metal walkways with railings. A sprawling mass of people bustling along each one and in the, what Price could best describe as pit, far below that. It was a surreal experience to the Colonial Commander. The ship he was in was virtually a city. He guessed by his surrounding the ship had its own class system and, presumably, culture and society on board. Price's bewilderment at this realisation going completely unnoticed by the High Admiral, the commander making a heroic effort to remain focused on the task at hand.

Everyone quickly got out of the way of the armed group. Every now and again one of the arms-men rudely pushed aside anyone not paying attention and standing in the way. Conduct Price wouldn't use against his own men if it wasn't absolutely necessary, unless he wished to lose the respect of his men in the long run.

Five minutes later they entered a richly decorated church nave, marked Situation Room with expertly crafted golden lettering. The centre was dominated by a charting table next to an electronic one. The rear walls were lined with stained glass windows. Each window depicted what seemed ancient characters which either build a ship, fought enemies or worshipped some heavily armored man with a Halo surrounding his head. In the centre of the rear wall a giant golden statue was embedded of the same man, but this time holding out a giant sword in front of him. Closer to the exit, rows of elevated seats were placed facing the centre tables. Where applicable, some sort of green-ish electronic screen was mounted just in front of the statue. Clearly this room was used for extensive fleet briefings.

Two men in blue navy uniforms were already waiting at the centre tables, Commander Lemere and Geiss it seemed. They seemed to be discussing files that laid bare on the table. When walking closer Price noticed it was a three-view of his own ship laying on the table. Other files looked like assessments of himself.

Without looking the High-Admiral knew the question Price was about to ask.

"These files allowed me to get to know my adversary before he would set foot on my ship. I am sure you'd understand."

Slowly Price approached the table and let the paper sheets go through his hands. Clearly the admiral had asked for the assessment of his liaison, Lieutenant Goradin. Unfortunately, he couldn't understand the characters imprinted onto the pieces of paper.

"And, what have you found?" Price simply asked.

"You are capable of following orders…... And breaking them." the admiral replied calm but with a rumbling and judgmental undertone.

"You are talking about Babarus. About McCallun. If I had waited for the man to give orders before taking action I would not be standing here. He would have lost a number of ships and new ships would have to take their place. Ships which could be of use elsewhere" Price answered. "Faced with this predicament with no orders I followed the directives I was taught at the Naval Academy."

"And what directive would that be?"

"When in doubt win the war." a short silence meant the Admiral was not yet satisfied. He continued:  
"It means I have to do what it takes to complete my objective. In this case I called for reinforcements and held the line that way. Hardly disobeying orders."

Though he could not say it, Byzantane could agree at least partly to the sentiment. However not every captain in the fleet was capable or competent enough to warrant such liberties. Let alone the loyalty to be trusted to do so in good faith. Even if this was no factor, they still had the commissars to contend with. Some would shoot you on the spot if you didn't execute given orders exactly as given, regardless of the circumstances. An eternal annoyance and grave danger to admirals and captains of a lower birth or of less competence, but a great relief to those in the upper naval classes as Byzantane was.

At any rate, as the session would progress he would decide how to handle the man on this subject.

"Unless we are here to chit-chat on past actions, I suggest to get to the point." Growled Commander Geiss with a cigar in his mouth. "This war isn't going to wait."

"Do we have intel on the current situation in Orar?" Price began.

Slightly taken aback by this sudden disruption from his thoughts, Admiral Byzantane walked up to the charting table.

"Our recon flights performed by Fury fighters have given us these picts." the Admiral replied while laying out big green-tinted recce etchments. "The depictions before you were taken this morning in orbit of Picus. An Agri-world. As far as we know the planet was taken two months ago, though we have picked up sporadic Vox-traffic from loyal elements"

"A bloody miracle if they'd lasted this long" Commander Lemere bellowed.

"We could take advantage of that." Price added while looking at the overall system chart.

"All of the system is occupied, correct?"

"Almost. Only Anvil 206 is still in our hands. But who knows for how long" The admiral replied.

"If I may, Sir?" Price began while taking out a coloured pencil from his inner pocket.

Byzantane nodded while others gathered closer.

"As I see it only Anvil is in our hands" Price began while encircling the planet with his pencil, "And our only assets are ships and the resisting elements on Picus.." he said while encircling the outer planet.

"It seems only logical that we retake Picus and use it as a base of operations to gather our forces before we push the system." Price drew a new line connecting Picus to Anvil.

"Nice idea. Only a pity we don't have soldiers." Geiss scoffed.

'We only need to hold what we have at Picus. We are no invasion force until reinforcements catch up. My ship can provide Close Air Support to the boots we have down there. Letting them rot is a waste of manpower and loyalty." Price concluded.

The commanders went on arguing the plan, High-Admiral Byzantane let the noise fade to the background and pondered. He had been playing with the same plan for days, only he lacked the means to pull it off. He would have to keep the enemy fleet and ground forces at bay at the same time. With only his ship to work with, powerful as it may be, it was not enough. Now it may just work. He had two Imperial escorts to work with, plus a small carrier.

The plan was sound. The downside was that it would depend on the loyalty of this outsider. If he could keep his word they would succeed. If he failed or decided to leave, or Throne forbid, turn against them… At best they would lose the planet. At worst he would lose some small-craft and the carrier, and having to start all over again!

Then again, the man had gained the confidence of multiple fleet commanders. Even a few Admirals seemed to commend his actions. Now it would come down on a matter of trust. The very same subject they touched upon earlier.

The arguing between the commanders rose in volume and pushed Byzantane out of his thoughts. Geiss didn't seem to like the plan. Too risky for so small a force. They would sure take a lot of hits. He may lose his ship. Which, given the difference in armor and shielding, was the most likely.

"Enough!" Byzantane called and the voices died down.

"If we wait, regaining a foothold in the system will get much harder. And in turn will increase the time it would take to retake the system. We have but one choice, which would ultimately come down to one simple fact."

The Admiral slowly turned around to face the outsider in his gray uniform and looked him square in the eye for the second time that day. "Can we trust you, Commander Price?" he asked calm and slowly.

"My men know all too well what it is like to lose their world, Gentlemen." Price began, turning away from the table. "These men on Picus are fighting to keep theirs. My men will support them without hesitation. You support us in space, and we will do whatever is in our power to support the men on the ground." He concluded with great confidence.

The Imperial men turned to one-another. Lemere nodded to the Admiral, giving his approval. When the Admiral turned towards Geiss he just stood there with crossed arms, grunting for a second before shrugging his shoulders. "Whatever, lets just get this over with." he growled.

"It has been decided then." Byzantane began. "We go in with our combined might, destroy what ships we can in orbit and drive off the rest. Once in position the three of our ships create a protective screen while Invictus supports our troops. Imperial Troop ships and Naval Forces should arrive no longer than a day later." He faced each of the commanders: "If there are no further notions to add I suggest you return to your ships and prepare for battle. Dismissed"

With the gathering concluded, the present ship-captains began to exit the room.

As the last commander stepped through the door, the Admiral looked up from the plotting table he saw Price still standing at the table's edge.

"You're still here. You have more questions to ask, Commander?" Byzantane inquired calmly, his steel gaze fixed on Price.

"I do have a few which, in my opinion, affect the mission indirectly. If you have a moment." Price answered just before throwing a look at the door-guard that hadn't left.

The Arms-men on guard kept looking at the holstered sidearm on the Colonial's waist. Realising the gaze of the guard compliment, Price slowly un-holstered his pistol, ejected the magazine and cycled the chamber, proving the piece was empty before placing it at the table. Satisfied the guard walked away after the commanders, closing the door behind him.

"What is on your mind?" Byzantane asked, slowly hanging back at the table.

"My men, sir."

"Explain"

"Let's assume for now my ship serves the Imperium well throughout the war and survives with most of my crew alive. What is to happen then? What will we become? We have no home to return to. My fear is that, at the end of this conflict, we will still be bound to roam the stars in the hope of finding a home. Their actions, their sacrifice, forgotten. I appreciate your need for my ship in this conflict, but my men may ask why we Colonials are fighting a war that isn't ours."

"Your men lack a reason to fight?" The High Admiral asked wearily, the Imperial lord evidently not wanting to deal with an unwilling outsider. "You stated otherwise mere minutes ago. Explain yourself!"

"Don't get me wrong Admiral. I ask them to fight, they'll fight. I've proven that to men before you. They are concerned with the aftermath."

Byzantane paused for brief moment. "I see your position, and the aftermath depends on your service and conduct." he answered, before he took another few moments to think, crossing his arms.

"Since you've proven yourself in more than one occasion, I suppose I can tell you this much: It is not uncommon for veteran Guard Regiments and old navy personnel who have expended usefulness to be awarded a place to call home after a large conflict. Sometimes this can be in the form of a planet, other times simply a backwater station, and only to those who can't effectively serve the Imperium anymore. Given you are not of the Imperium, neither the Inquisition nor Obscurus high command will want you to remain in active service after you are no longer instrumental to the war effort. Now, I am not Ravensburg, only he can promise such things; but my guess is that you will be committed to strategic reserve and sent to some quiet backwater until the Imperium has further use of you. Provided your current track record continues. Does that put your mind at ease?"

"Can I repeat these words to my officers in truth?"

"I shall relay your concerns to Ravensburg. Until then, tell them you will likely be rewarded, which is very much true. I suspect a medal will at least be in order. Provided you continue to serve with loyalty and competence, of course."

"That is good enough for me. Thank you for your time Admiral" Price said while shaking the man's hand. The Imperial paused for second, but returned with: "Likewise Commander." before turning his back on Price and heading towards his command bridge.

After these words Price re-holstered his pistol and walked out the room after the escort commanders.

The briefing room board Invictus was filled with the ship's High-Ranking officers and all pilots. The room was abuzz with the chatter of all present. The room was like an auditorium, sparsely decorated and to the point with screens for recon plates to be displayed. In front of the briefer-stage were row upon row of elevated seats, enough to seat every pilot aboard. This time there were not enough seats to go around so some stood at the side.

Suddenly the hatch near the stage opened with a loud click.

One officer turned around and noticed the Commanding officers, including The Blue, stepping through and called: "Attention on deck!"

The chatter was replaced with the sound of over two-hundred men snapping to attention.

Price took stance in front of the men with the others to his flanks. "At ease".

The men took their seats if they had managed to acquire one. The rest stood easy at their place.

"Gentlemen, we are on the threshold of reaching our objective given to us from Port Maw. The Orar Sub-Sector. This cluster of systems has been invaded by the very forces which have attacked us from the moment of our arrival in this sector. Now is the time to take the fight to them."

He paused and set the system map of Picus on the Briefing screens.

"Our objective? Secure a foothold on the planet Picus Prime and hold it until Imperial reinforcements arrive. Mr Goradin…"

Price stood down and the imperial Lieutenant took his place.

"The Plan is simple. Our combined fleet will make a straight line for the planet and drive off the enemy fleet. Our focus must lie on the destruction of the invasion ships as displayed on this Recce pict."

On the secondary screen a green-tinted picture lit up showing several warships and fat troop transports in orbit above the planet.

"Once our orbit has been secured, Invictus will provide ground support to our surviving troops while Ark Imperial and our escort ships keep the surrounding space secure. Any spare craft will support their efforts when the opportunity arises. But Picus must not fall!"

Goradin paused to let his words set in and produced a new green-tinted pict on the secondary screen. This time they were looking at what seemed a small double-runway airfield, which had suffered tremendous damage, layed in a valley surrounded by thick-forested hills. Not far from it to the south-east a small fortress-structure was visible. It held some sort of ground-space artillery.

"This tertiary airfield still holds loyal Guard and PDF ground troops resisting the invasion. These soldiers have been fighting for weeks so we can only assume they are exhausted and running out of weapons, ammo and manpower. It is critical that these men are allowed to keep this position. Our ability to reclaim the planet, and by extension, the system will depend on it. Keep note that the Aquila Battle Station to the south is still in Imperial hands, although for how much longer is anyone's guess. It is not to be attacked, even when taken, without express permission given by the Commander. That Macro Cannon could be critical to keeping our orbital superiority secure."

Next came a list of pilots-rosters and call signs, indicating who was stationed where.

"Friendly Vox comms use call-sign Trojan 2-1. Strikers will use call-sign 'Hawk'. Fighters will use 'Eagle'. Each flight will find details in their mission packages. Any questions?".

A hand rose. "What are our rules of engagement?"

Price took a step forward. "Mission priority first. That aside you are weapons free on all targets of opportunity."

A few mumblings rose from the ranks but no questions came.

"If there are no further questions, see to your planes. Skids up tomorrow 0500 hours. Dismissed!" Price finished the brief.

Seconds later the sound of hundreds of men rising to their feet and exiting the room filled the chamber. The Commanding Officers exited first and were soon followed by the rest. Now all they could do is prepare for the battle to come.


	12. Battle for Picus

**Chapter 13**

Picus. Another hell hole for men to fight and die in. Once a pristine Agriworld, covered with trees of ripe fruits and great fields of grazing Grox and native livestock. Now a blasted wasteland in most areas. Its cities in ruin, its vast forests burning, the few pockets of those still brave enough to resist the Chaos occupation having the life choked out of them in ever shrinking territories.

 _And this damned airfield is about the last place I wanted to die_ Captain Sorte thought to himself bitterly, as he clutched his Lasgun against his chest.

Las bolts and solid slugs flashed and whizzed about in both directions for a while now, the occasional explosive retort of a tank or savage bark of a Heavy bolter breaking the din, but Captain Sorte knew the real assault was soon to come. And when it finally came upon them they wouldn't last long.

In the past two months he saw his units numbers become fewer and fewer each day. Of his original 1000 men, barely 400 were still alive. Some of the men now weren't even trained soldiers, his real solider count still left of his original brigade probably closer to something like a hundred men. The other 300 being mostly militia. Desperate in their fight for their home many civilians picked up weapons from dead soldiers and fought on themselves. Some were smart enough to hook up with units as his. But now his unit would be the only one left as far as Sorte knew.

All he could do now was defend this damned airfield they found two weeks earlier. It was just another speck on the map abandoned long ago by local PDF forces.

There wasn't much left. All planes were gone, save for a few ancient rust buckets who haven't been used in decades. They did find some small-arms, two AA-gun carriers, four chimeras and two rusty Leman-russ tanks. An Exterminator and a Conqueror. As luck would have it most of this stuff was barely able to move so they towed the armor out and dug in. The guns thankfully still worked. There was no place to run anyway and this place was as good as any other for a fight.

At least now they had more of a fighting chance than before, which for all they had wasn't worth much. Those tanks being just about the only thing keeping his ragged band of troops alive.

They had been surrounded and outnumbered for three days now, huddled close in their foxholes. Sorte had hastily arranged for the defence with his remaining sergeants and Lieutenant Heath, an old war-horse lucky to be alive with what was left of the battalion. The 2 tanks were dug in, hull down, in the gap between the two runways, facing east towards the remains of a local forest and the main defence around the terminal. The two tanks arranged in a 'V' shape to protect the ammo dumps and mortar pits behind them. The AA were set to ground fire and Chimeras were turned side on and reinforced with dirt. Their broadside of lasguns facing out over the open ground and foxholes. Most of the infantry however were set up around the terminal building, with some 30 men barricaded inside. The rest, along with Sorte, were huddled in two-man foxholes arranged in a staggered pattern. Ready to attempt to see off an attack.

It was the best they could have done with the time and resources they had but the situation was still grim. Even if the the Aquila station held, they couldn't expect reinforcement… until about an hour ago. There was some contact over the Vox with Imperial space ships, telling him his new call sign was Trojan and to expect reinforcements. They were under way, they had told him, but Sorte still had no idea when they would actually arrive.

He just told his boys they were coming. It was the best news many had heard in months. It was certainly enough to bring some small ray of hope to Store's own bitter and desperate mind.

As Sorte rounded of his inner monologue, the enemy war-horns sounded and the incoming fire intensified, the rumbling of engines coming from the burnt-out forest. Their final attack was coming.

Sorte jumped to his feet, calling out over the fire "Wakey wakey, ladies! The heretics are coming! Get on the guns! Vox the Tanks, I want suppressive fire on the tree line now! For the Emperor!" _And may he have mercy on our souls._ He thought, as he cradled his Mk XI Mars-Pattern Lasgun and squeezed off a long burst into the rising tide of enemy fire.

The battle was a furious mess. Green-ish chaos las-bolts answered by red imperial ones, paired with the orange tracer of autocannons and the odd stream of yellow rocket trails from Heavy bolter rounds. The few mortars they had left were hard at action, pumping out their shells almost continuously. Soon they would have to slow down or they would cook a round off and blow themselves up. Something they could not afford to happen. Vox was almost useless on top of that, channels filled with static from dead lines or incomprehensible chatter and shouting. Explosions, shouting and screams from those who wished they were dead made it incredibly hard to understand what the other was saying even without them. Sorte giving up very quickly on trying to give any orders during the fight.

Wave upon wave of enemy cultists and traitors kept coming. With his rifle at his shoulder he ushered prayers to the emperor and continued firing. Focusing on aiming, the action of firing his weapon, and the dropping of his chosen targets. Sorte trying his hardest not to notice the the blood and brains of his former comrade beside him, or that the heretics were getting ever-closer to his hole. He was dimly aware of a shadow slowly enveloping the battle, Sorte spared a glance upward to see the underside of two hulking great warships drifting its way over to the airfield he was fighting for.

Sorte dropped to his knees, clasped his hands together, and prayed harder than he ever had in his life. He and his men and fought and died long enough, and he awaited blessed release from this hell.

 _-Minutes Earlier-_

"Two Destroyers are approaching and you want to send marines on raptors down to the surface! Have you lost your mind!? They'll be torn apart! If not by the warships, then surely by the guns on the ground!" Howard virtually roared at The Blue standing across from him.

"Well _Colonel_ I don't know if you've noticed but those surviving ground forces are not exactly having a picnic! We can't afford to delay our arrival by fighting with petty escorts! We can easily crush them and get reinforcements to the ground if you didn't have such a weak stomach for combat!" The Imperial retorted back, a savage snarl in his voice, Howard looked about ready to throttle him to death.

Price looked down at his plotting table, drowning out his bickering executive officers.

The bulk of the enemy fleet had been driven away, as planned, but two Iconoclast destroyers had broken past the fleet and were on their way to intercept them. He knew Howard was right, they could indeed easily destroy them without risking marine lives, but he also knew Goradin's observation that the ground forces couldn't hold that long was also true.

 _Come on Price, think of something!_ He thought, growing frustrated, when an idea suddenly hit him.

"Pipe down! Both of you!" The two men reluctantly turning to face their commander. "You are both right. We can't waste time fighting the Iconoclasts, or we lose the fight on the ground" Goradin turned to look at Howard with a smug and utterly triumphant grin "BUT!" Price added, supremely irritated by the face, "We can't risk the lives of my men trying to get support down there while those destroyers are close by. And don't _ever_ do that face again, or I will launch you out of the airlock" Goradin looked slightly stunned for a second before straightening himself up and trying to regain his composure.

"Well John, what do you suggest?" Howard asked

"I suggest an orbital drop. We burn hard towards the planet and punch through the atmosphere. The sonic boom and flaming mass should scare off the two destroyers, if what Goradin tells us is correct, they should be pirate mercenaries and won't have the stomach for facing up to a 3K long hulk of metal flying at them. We can launch Vipers on the way down to give close air support and maybe a few Raptors. When they are clear we jump into low orbit and provide further support from there and see off the destroyers if they come back. Its risky, but it should allow us to complete our mission with minimal casualties."

Both Goradin and Howard looked at each other, then back at Price, "What?!" they said in unison.

"You heard me! Have a better plan, either of you?" They exchanged another look "No sir."

 _-Present-_

Sorte's prayer was interrupted by a loud boom, and the now thoroughly withered captain looked up at the sky to see a bright light descending from the heavens. _Well Sorte. You've well and truly lost it._ He thought to himself, squinting to try and make sense of what he was looking at. Upon closer inspection, it looked like a great burning mass of metal was hurtling towards Picus at terminal velocity… The captain just continued to stare at the strange mass, unable to believe or comprehend what he was looking at.

The enemy destroyers, their captains in a panic at the new development, rapidly accelerating away with all the speed they could muster towards the horizon. Sorte neither noticed nor particularly cared anymore. His prayer, for the first time in his life, had been answered.

The Invictus, far above, had burned right through Picus' atmosphere, dropping rapidly. Its hull glowed red by the friction of the thick planetary atmosphere, leaving behind a wall of fire dozens of meters high.

"Altitude hundred five thousand and falling like a rock!" sounded through the CIC.

"Launch! Launch them all!" Howard called down the horn while Price ordered: "Standby FTL!"

8 Raptors that had been waiting and loaded flew out of the main Launch pods at top-speed, Vipers and Strike Vipers ejecting from the launch tubes along the Pods' broadsides.

Duster's Strike Viper shook restlessly in the launch tube. With the tube doors open he could see the inferno raging outside.

"Cleared to launch!" sounded in his headset.

"Whelp, this is a new one." Duster mumbled before being shot out through the wall of fire, into the Picus atmosphere together with 79 other craft.

"All birds are clear!" Shouted Goradin from his station.

"Stand-by…. JUMP!" Price shouted, and with a great flash, Invictus disappeared. A mere 500 metres from the surface of Picus.

Everyone within a 5 kilometre radius, not looking away, was temporarily blinded by the bright flash of the Invictus FTL jump. With almost 3 cubic kilometres of metal gone, the void left behind collapsed with a giant sonic boom, throwing about people and debris even remotely close to the event and sucking up dust and pebbles in every direction at the vacuum-based disturbance. Sorte quickly ducked down and lowered his head to shield his face against the dust-storm, sand and pebbles ticking against his helmet and skin. Eyes dazzled and hands shaking in shock.

Moments later his vox began to sound:

"Trojan 2-1, Trojan 2-1 this is Hawk 1. Come in."

Struck with disbelief Sorte just looked over at the Voxcaster for several long moments. Staring. He could hardly believe what he was promised by the Navy was actually occurring. _Certainly an Improvement over Guard high command…_ Sorte mused in his typically cynical inner dialogue.

"Trojan 2-1, Trojan 2-1 this is Hawk 1, Callsign Duster. Come in."

Slowly he approached the Vox and picked up the horn.

"This is… This is Trojan 2-1. Aye. Captain Sorte of the 122nd Guard-PDF Infantry Battalion. Are you our Navy reinforcements?" The answer seemed obvious, but Sorte had to ask to settle his confused mind.

"That's affirmative! You've got eight Shuttles with Marines inbound to your location. I suggest you clear an LZ for them to land. ETA three minutes."

 _Thank the Emperor._ "Roger that Duster, can you provide Close Air Support?" _Please say yes._ Sorte wasn't even completely sure he'd have the wafer-thin defence he did have without some kind of heavy firepower.

"You've got nine fighters and seventy strikers at your disposal Captain. We'll do what we can. Better tell your guys to get real small in their holes and mark your lines. We can't see friend from foe from up here."

 _By the Throne! This keeps getting better!_ "Understood. Sorte out!" he threw down the mic, and looked around wildly for surviving men. The Chaos attack had noticeably eased in shock, barely any fire being exchanged, it barely registered as he turned right turned and finally spotted a few of his men several fox-holes along from him. Theirs being a slit accommodating 6 men as opposed to the two-man hole Sorte currently found himself in.

He recognised two of them from his original company. Sorte sucked in and projected his voice over to them "Merkin! Doyle! Get behind that depression behind us and prep an LZ for incoming reinforcements! Use det-cord if you have to! Go!" the men didn't need it repeating. While fire was still relatively light, they ran off at meteoric pace back and away from the line.

He turned to his left to see what he could scavenge from his dead Vox officer when he spotted a boy from the militia in the Fox hole directly next to his. Barely out of his teens, he was showing his metal by hammering the line with his autogun. Either not noticing or recovering quickly from the surprise arrivals.

"You! Boy! What's your name?" Sorte shouted, lugging up the Caster and scurrying the short distance between the two fox holes, narrowly avoiding a hail of Autogun slugs.

The boy looked around startled, swinging his gun around, before realising his Captain was the one scurrying toward him. The boy lowed the weapon, swallowed, and replied weakly: "Dannings, sir."

"Ever worked with one of these?" Sorte asked, nodding to the caster dropped at his feet.

He looked down at it. "Can't say I have sir. Best I had was a short-range toy and a radio I used to tinker with." Nervousness and anxiety clear in his voice.

"That's good enough. You just volunteered to be my Vox officer. Congratulations on the Promotion. Now pick this piece of crap up and stick to my ass from now on, understood? You are now our lifeline!"

"Yes sir!" the boy replied, feeling both proud for vote of confidence and now nervous of the immense pressure now lying on his shoulders rather than performance anxiety.

"First order for ya. Drown out all vox noise and send to all our boys: friendly ships incoming, watch fire. Stay in your holes and mark our lines. Use smokes to mark out position. Friendly CAS inbound. You got that?"

Dannings nodded and started working with the caster right away, playing with the switches and knobs.

 _The kid sure looked more confident with a vox than shooting a rifle_ Sorte reflected, _let's hope he is proficient with it too_.

The arch-enemy's forces were in disarray after Invictus made its dynamic entry. Soldiers stunned, blinded, and unsure of how to proceed with what had seemed like an easy victory, paralysing the attack. The front line had stalled, and more infantry and the first vehicles pouring out of the Forest edge had created a target-rich environment. It took a few moments before they realised there were strikers inbound, once they did the Chaos force was in motion again. Scurrying for cover in the forest, rushing forwards into captured foxholes, while the Hydras they had in the area roared out wave after wave of FLAK. It would be far too little too late for many of them. But the Hydra batteries were a nasty hazard for Invictus' planes.

"Wow, someone really isn't happy to see us." seeing the thick black blanket of lead rising up to greet them from the Hydras on the ground.

"Damn right Wizzo" Duster replied while jinking away from the wall of fire. "Shall we return the favour?"

"Already on it. Got one mobile AA at one O'clock at five KM."

"Lock missile!"

"Locked!"

"Rifle!" Duster called in his radio while pulling the trigger, calling his shot.

The optical seeker found the heat-signature of the enemy Hydra battery and sped towards it at Supersonic speeds. Just over a dozen seconds later the missile impacted the lightly armoured weapons carrier and detonated inside, tearing the vehicle apart in a brilliant orange fireball. Secondary explosions cutting down surrounding Infantry in the Forest.

"Whelp, that shut them up." the Wizzo commented, looking over at the rising column of thick black smoke.

"Yup, but he isn't the only one down there" Duster replied before switching to his radio. "Duster to all Planetary units. Mobile triple-A units in the area, priority one targets. Stay at altitude and scan your sectors. We need confirmation of whose friendly down there. All Hawk Units, form a ring up high, pick your targets before your run in. By the numbers people. We can't lose any ships here. No time to Frack about!"

He was answered by multiple acknowledgements over the net.

All craft rose to altitude and formed a giant rotating wheel of strike craft orbiting the combat zone, waiting for the lines to be marked. White smoke markers began to rise from the airfields outer edges. Trojan had marked their holdings.

"We're in business!" someone exclaimed over the comm. And the craft set in for their first pass. Diving like great predatory birds after their prey.

The smoke-markers were barely active before Sorte could see a dozen or so small Strike Craft screaming down towards the enemy troops mere dozens of meters in front of him. Large streams of tracers and FLAK arched up into the sky, trying to hit the small craft. They were met with missile-fire aimed right at the source, explosions accompanied by shouts and screams marking the termination of the missile's trajectory. Stopping whatever had been shooting at them in very short order.

Each craft came down low and dropped two canisters which quickly exploded in massive fireballs almost a hundred meters long, enveloping dozens of enemy troops with them with every blast. Their deaths marked by screams and the foul stench of corrupted and burning flesh. Within minutes the airfield was practically surrounded by fire. Sorte winced and felt the immense heat burning, but cracked a savage grin. A truly fitting end for the heretic.

The fire temporarily isolated the airfield, leaving only small lanes open where the fires failed to overlap. In spite of the blocked path, enemy troopers and APC's attempted to resume the assault, flowing out of the surrounding woods. To Duster the mass of troops looked like a heap of ants crawling towards their target. Seeing the opportunity, he swooped his Strike-Viper down and started his attack run, shortly followed by two wingmen.

Sorte ripple-dropped cluster-bombs above the highest concentration of enemy troops he could find. Before the traitors could react, the area was saturated with hundreds of small bomblets which exploded on impact, severing limbs and ripping apart bodies. His wingmen executed expert rocket-strikes on the lightly armoured APC's. Some managed to get a few shots off with their side-mounted lasguns, before getting gutted by armour-piercing rockets exploding inside and eviscerated anything in their way.

All that was left behind being scored and gored earth, punctuated only by the screams of the dying and the burning wrecks of torn up APCs.

The three strikers pulled up hard to re-join the formation above, paired with las-shots and hard-rounds from below. A stray shot managed to graze the wing of Dusters plane, but did not do any damage worth thinking about.

Duster's flight barely reached formation altitude before their place was filled by two other strikers bearing down on the enemy infantry, drowning them in fireballs of their own. The first managed to break away clean without any issues. The second wasn't that lucky. He came in too fast, restricting his ability to move with tremendous G-forces. He steered clear of the ground, but was focussed down by an enemy Hydra battery and pintle-mounted autocannons. The intense fire shredded his right wing, set his engines ablaze and killed the pilot in the peppered cockpit. His Wizzo somehow managed to survive, but being trapped in a dying plane with a dead pilot his life ended quickly as the plane fell down towards the planet. The remaining weapons detonating on impact with a massive explosion.

Regardless of the loss of their fellow pilot the craft kept their attack runs up around the entire perimeter, halting the enemy advance and preventing them overrunning the airfield.

The open plains separating the field from the surrounding forest wasn't much wider than about five hundred meters, but was soon filled with the dead and dying among storming enemy forces. Dead and burning wrecks of weaponized trucks, APC's and a few odd tanks marked their demise with thick black smoke billowing from within.

Sorte looked out over the display of Carnage and Destruction and was only far too aware that without the quick support of the strange small strikers, he and his men would have faced a terrible demise in a not so distant future. The scenes before him most likely occurring among his own forces.

Not long after he heard a high-pitched screech of whining engines coming down. Sorte turned to see several small, fat, craft descending towards the depression Merkin and Doyle had cleared. The promised reinforcements finally started to arrive at the LZ. He tapped Dannings on the shoulder to follow and ran towards the landing spacecraft at the low of the field. They attracted virtually no fire despite breaking cover, all Heretical eyes fixed on the sky in terror.

Before the shuttles could touch down, dark-uniformed soldiers had already started to jump down and ran towards his general direction. As soon as the craft were empty they pulled up again and were gone as soon as they arrived.

"Captain MacTavish, Colonial Marines. You the one in charge here?" the stranger officer asked, shouting over the noise of Raptor engines, screams of hundreds of dying soldiers and heavy gunfire.

Sorte hesitated. The men were not wearing uniforms he recognized from the Uplifting Primer or his own experiences, they did not appear at all like Imperial soldiers judging by their uniform and weaponry, but Sorte reasoned that they must be on their side judging by the air support.

"Captain Sorte, Guard-PDF, or what is left of it." Sorte replied. "I can see you aren't imperial, but I can't afford to be picky right now. What do you have for me?"

"Sixty of my best men. We've got a few marksmen and LMG's with us. Second wave is under way, fifteen minutes!"

"Alright, it'll have to do, spread your troops out along the line. We could use some cover fire from the terminal. Heath's Autocannons and Heavy Bolters could use a break. If you have snipers, put them there and up the hill to the south. Also, reinforce Beta company at the creek bed to the southeast if you got men to spare. They got hit hard before you could arrive and are probably locked in hand-to hand fighting as we speak." _if they are still alive_ Sorte thought cynically to himself. Beta company being undermanned from fighting before they got stuck at the airfield, but he needed something to cover the southern flank.

Tavish nodded to Sorte and immediately turned to his men "Mcdonnell, Doyle. Pick two snipers and get your MG's in that terminal, go!"

Four men immediately scurried away and headed for their post.

"Gaz, get your men to the creek-bed. Take third squad with you, spread out along the line. The rest of you on me!"

About half the group kept low and hurried to the south and disappeared from view.

The remaining troops stayed with MacTavish who followed the PDF Captain to his command-post close to the LZ, leading his men from there to the dug-in Leman Russ tanks. "What's the situation here Cap?" MacTavish asked after diving into a fox-hole close to the tanks, a hail of lasbolts and Autogun slugs flying overhead at the movement around the airfield.

Sorte sighed as he thought how screwed his men truly were before reinforcements arrived, but delayed barely a moment in his reply "We've been flat to the board for weeks and we are obviously outnumbered." He said, gesturing around at the forest, still regurgitating fresh Chaos troops. "Ammo and rations are low. We have kept ourselves going on abandoned equipment and local floria, thank the Emperor for Agri-Worlds. One thing we are desperate for are medical supplies. I can barely do anything for my wounded" Sorte continued. His last words almost drowned out by a loud boom of the Conquers main gun firing. A captured trench suddenly erupting from the ground as the heavy High Explosive ended a group of traitor Infantry getting too close to the command post. The boom followed shortly by a long stream of orange shells and rapid fire explosions, closely followed by an exploding enemy tank, the Exterminator adding yet another of its own contributions to the carnage.

Sorte gestured upwards, not wanting to contest with the noise of the war machines. "What is the story up above?" he shouted, after the outburst had concluded itself.

"In short, two space-carriers and two escorts are tearing the red bastards a new one. These strike craft should give them some pause. If we can hold out till tomorrow, maybe half a day later, we're good. Liberation fleet should be here by then. Till then we're it! 'Scuse me" he remarked as he bumped the Imperial away, shooting down two charging Chaos Fanatics that had gotten through the tanks' formidable fire envelope.

The long bursts of Colonial rifles and machine-guns soon joined the barking of Autoguns and Cracking Las-rifles all around.

- _Beta Company, Southern Flank, The Creek Bed_ -

"Manny, where the hell are you?" the young soldier grunted under his breath. His long-time friend and comrade-in-arms had sped off to the munitions dump for spare charge-packs and ammo-mags. Throne knows where he was now, almost everyone in his squad was running low. Whatever they had left wouldn't last long. The sarge had ordered everyone on single-shot. Full auto would only waste precious ammo. Manny should have been back by now. The soldier hoped he would be back soon or he would run dry, the heretics where showing none of the restraint or hesitation they had around the Terminal and command centre. He had three magazines left, and the enemy was barely dozens of metres away from him. He'd already been forced to watch the trench line in front of him fall, the men within physically torn apart by the frenzied barely-human horde of renegades.

Masses of enemy soldiers came charging towards his position. The Soldier knew what would happen if they reached him, he knew his duty to the emperor, and he would not fail in his sight. He fired in single-shot, as he had been ordered, each heavy round ripping through a heretic and sending it tumbling to the ground. Three, Four, Five, dropping in rapid succession before the click sounded; the weapon demanding it be fed ammunition.

In a bid to keep the horde at bay he slung his rifle to the side and reached for the side arm. He had only one mag, but it should have kept them at bay a little while longer... Too little, far too late. The enemy troops were already within arms reach.

The soldier emptied his autopistol into the charging chaos troops, killing three, but rapidly expending his finite resource of ammunition. With no time to reload his rifle he swung the weapon up like a club and sunk the long savage-looking bayonet on it into the heretics throat. The assailant, not immediately killed, recoiled back making choking noises as foul and corrupted blood spurted across the soldier's face and coated his weapon. He immediately brought his rifle up high and stabbed him again with his fixed bayonet directly through his rotting gut, sending the enemy soldier into agonizing death screams before it finally surrendered its cursed life.

Not stopping for a second, he swung round to face two other assailants that had jumped into his Fox-Hole. One attempted to batter the Imperial with what looked like a spiked club, the soldier ducked right and slashed upwards from down low, castrating and disembowelling the traitor in one clean motion as it dropped to the side clutching it's stinking guts. The second rushed its way past its former comrade clutching a Lasrifle fixed with a rusted bayonet. The Imperial swatted the jab aside but received a face-full of rifle-butt as the traitor smoothly followed up the attack with a harsh bash. Dazed, and off balance, the Imperial made a wild slash at the blurred shape of his assailant in desperation. He got lucky. The blade connecting with the throat of the trooper. The enemy dropping to his knees and keeling over silently, windpipe severed. The Soldier was young and in his prime, but blinking away the dazed haze of the strike he had just received and now thoroughly exhausted from weeks of fatigue and heavy fighting, he was easily at his most vulnerable by that point.

Barely recovered, he heard the sound of more running from the heretics. He turned and raised, readying for another bayonet fight. Then he heard a sharp snap and whistle of a bullet passing by his head, shortly followed by the crack of a skull being ripped apart by an explosive. He turned to face the disturbance, seeing a huge black-uniformed soldier running up to him, blasting away with his exotic-looking bullpup rifle.

The bulky man dropped down into his foxhole and pressed his back against the dirt wall for cover. "You Ok?" The black uniformed soldier asked. "What's your name son?"

The Imperial soldier looked puzzled for a second, but the adrenaline cut through his confusion and he nodded to him, finally reloading his autogun. "Name's Lem. Thanks for that! Not sure I could take another one" making a lazy wave to the butchered and rotting corpses around him, panting heavily.

"Don't mention it. Call me Camo" he said before popping up and letting a burst loose at the enemy, the next wave initiating its assault hot on the heels of the last. Looking through his sights the colonial saw the disgusting shapes of the enemy troops, while they were alive, up close for the first time. These were not the soldiers he was used to fighting. He had fought men like himself for his entire career. But never this. These men resembled drowned and rotten swamp-monsters more than men. Squealing and screaming, the men in torn and faded uniforms kept charging the line.

In the ongoing onslaught the two men covered each other's backs, though they barely knew the other's name, and both had different drives to fight, they were united as soldiers by their shared need to eliminate the enemy they faced. Camo, clearly being an experienced soldier, saved Lem on more than one occasion, throwing him to the side to cut down flanking enemies. Lem returned the favour on one or two occasions, neatly cutting down any who got too close to his only immediate support and providing cover in the form of their mutilated bodies to absorb incoming fire.

Camo was absorbed in the action and his dedication to duty when he heard a sound which would chill any soldier to the bone. It was the clicking sound of a gun running out of ammunition. He turned and saw Lem franticly looking for a spare mag to slam into his gun. Desperate to fulfil his equipments demands.

It was no use. All his rounds were spent. Lem just swallowed and prepared for more hand to hand combat. If he died he did so fighting, in the Emperor's name, to the bitter end.

Looking at the pale and ruined face of the withered Imperial, Camo un-holstered his sidearm and tossed it over.

"I take em at range. You keep doing what you do best! Keep em off my back. You got twenty rounds a mag. Six mags left. Make em count!"

Lem stared at Camo like he'd grown a second head, but quickly recovered, nodding and starting to blast away at any target he was sure he could hit. The pistol looked bulky, had a big secondary barrel and trigger, but was lighter than anything he had held before. Certainly no Bolt Pistol. The recoil was significant, but lighter than he was accustomed to, the stopping power was still more than enough to drop a storming foe.

Soon the sharp burp of Camo's automatic rifle joined the loud bang of Lem's side arm fire. The two warriors continuing their stalwart stand, as hell unleashed upon them all around.

-Forest Edge, Renegade forward command-

The day had gone from bad to worse for the traitor colonel. He had been given the honour of crushing the last bastion of loyalist defence for being the first defector, only to be foiled by an uninvited guest. He felt like weeping. Years of preparation and shady dealings slipping from his grasp, even as his former PDF regiments were blessed by Father Nurgle's first touch. _Is this my trial, oh great plague farther? If so I will endure it!_

He was interrupted by a pained wailing and his name being called.

He turned to see General Pallion and two of his fanatics entering his command centre, cutting down his unfortunate bodyguard. All dressed in the crimson red and bronze armour of all those who worshiped the god of violence and bloodshed.

"Colonel Davis!" He screamed in a high, demented voice, "What is the meaning of this incompetence!?"

Davis wheezed out a sigh, a single racking cough shaking his body as flies escaped his bloated lungs, "Maybe if you stopped killing my body guards I would be more secure in my position! Besides, we could not have anticipated these… interlopers…" Davis trailed off, gesturing up to the speck in the sky, where Invictus watched and waited.

"Do not trifle with me!" Pallion screamed "The death of a few unworthy 'soldiers' and the appearance of some petty weaklings do not justify your failure!" His voice suddenly dropped and became unnervingly calm, rumbling and deadly quality just below the surface of the calm words "perhaps a change of command is in order, Davis." a Predatory grin splitting his sharp and cruel face.

"No!" Davis croaked out through his mucus filled throat, "I will crush this resistance of father nurgle's blessing and bring this world under the sway of the true powers! Just give me time. I didn't expect visitors."

Pallion's grin didn't dissipate, and he continued in his dangerously smooth, oily voice "Well the warmaster doesn't seem to agree. You've disappointed me, and those that gave you this mission." Davis opened his mouth to retort but Pallion cut him off with a sharp chopping motion and a feral growl, before continuing "But… we feel merciful today. Perhaps your gross misconduct was just one stumble in the glorious trail of bloodshed. You have until morning to either destroy this resistance, or get out of the way, the crimson fist is descending upon this airfield and they will not shy away from destroying your pathetic excuse for soldiers alongside the corpse worshipers".

"Do I make myself… perfectly clear?" Pallion asked, voice laced with venomous malice.

Davis swallowed down a heavy clump of mucus and nodded. "y-yes, general, I understand. I'll make preparations immediately".

Pallion's grin widened "Good." He turned to leave, decapitating the one surviving bodyguard as he groaned on the floor. "I expect to have heard of your success by Morning, or gods help you, your head will decorate my command tank."

- _Beta Company, Southern Flank, The Creek Bed, the following night_ -

As loud and intense as the fight was during the day, the silence and quiet was deafening over the Creek Bed. Or the entire airfield as a matter of fact. When dusk came the enemy finally gave up their relentless attacks, their surviving elements retreating towards the treeline.

That was two hours ago.

Camo and Lem were huddled low in opposite ends of their foxhole, talking quietly to each other. Lem was absently fumbling with the Pistol Camo gave him earlier that day. He didn't need it anymore as one of the ammo runners had already stocked him up with some mags and a few grenades, but the small strange piece intrigued him nevertheless, playing with the secondary barrel and the slide.

It didn't pierce body armour that well as a standard Bolt Pistol would, but still it would do the job well enough. It had kept him alive till now anyway. Opposite of him in the small hole, Camo took a look at his Tempest pattern autogun. He seemed satisfied, nodded approvingly at Lem before handing the rifle back.

"Not a bad piece. I can imagine why you like it."

"Has enough stopping power. If you've got the ammo." Lem replied without looking up at his fellow occupant. Camo couldn't hide his chuckle that moment. Lem gave him an annoyed look. Obviously not liking the humour.

"Sorry."

Lem shrugged. "Why the hell are you on this Throne Forsaken planet anyway?" he asked with a somewhat suspicious look on his face.

Camo chuckled again before replying: "It's a long story."

Lem took a quick look over the edge of his hole, watching over the plains. Nothing.

"I've got the time" He replied before sitting back down.

"You are not the only one to lose his home, son. The difference is we had a different enemy exterminating our family and friends." Camo replied with sad eyes and a heavy voice.

"My unit and the boys flying up there" he gestured towards the sky to put an accent on his point, "We're all that is left of my people."

Lem just nodded in acknowledgement, not giving away whatever he was thinking.

"And now you're fighting on this ball of dirt which is not yours. I get how you feel." he replied.

"My world isn't lost. Not yet anyway. I'm from a Feth-hole of a Hive-world somewhere in the guts of this sector. Some Feth-head thought it was a good idea to try and assassinate heads of government. Now my once great home is locked in a murderous civil war. Not that it matters out here anyway."

"Two soldiers of distant worlds, sharing a hole and fighting for a world that isn't theirs. What are the odds…." Camo remarked to no-one in particular.

"You got that right…." Lem replied with an absent look on his face.

"You know… Not many shipborne units would come down to help a rag-tag group of desperate grunts like you guys do. You sure are in the wrong side of the universe."

"Oh? How's that?"

"You guys aren't Imperial. That makes you outsiders. Whether you are friendly or not, you'll be under the strongest scrutiny for as long as you live. Or until you leave Imperial territory, which I highly doubt you'll ever manage."

"We'll see. First we have to survive the night before I can worry about that." Camo replied while taking his turn looking over the top.

"Point"

Camo took his time looking over the top, scanning with his eye through the magnified scope of his rifle.

"You see anything?" Lem asked as he joined Camo looking over.

"Not a thing. It's pitch black out here. I can barely see the other hole to our flanks, and they are mere meters away. I've got a feeling though."

"What feeling?"

"They're creeping up on us."

"It's the wind and the dark playing with your head. Smoke of the fires today have blocked the moon."

"Nah, it's not that. They're coming. I'm telling ya."

Lem wanted to reply, but before he could say anything the creeping-up feeling Camo had begun to grasp him as well.

"Do some of your stove-pipe boys have some illumination rounds left?"

"Who?" Lem asked with a confused face.

"Stove-pipe boys. Mortars."

Lem nodded and rolled over the top towards the closest foxhole to his left. He returned after a few seconds, laying his rifle on the line in anticipation.

Moments later they heard the signature thump and whoosh of a mortar round being fired some distance behind them. With a loud hissing sound, the flare chased away the pitch-black dark of night, illuminating the plains in front of them. Momentarily blinded by the sudden brightness both men squinted their eyes. When they reopened their eyes both men cursed in horror as the adrenaline kicked in.

The plain before them was a writhing sea of rotting soldiers, crawling and crouching, trying to sneak up upon the Imperial/colonial line.

A long moment passed, the two sides staring at each other in shock, before the call 'Open Fire!' went up along the front. Suddenly the entire line erupted in small-arms fire, soon joined by mortars and grenades, together with the odd air-dropped bomb exploding in the plains. Soon the night becoming day as flares, explosions, and storm of bullets roared out into the darkness.

The enemy was barely a second slower to react. Soon the carpet of bodies had risen and surged forward in a great tide at the line of fire. Shells boomed out in retort from the treeline, engines rumbling to life, and the feral screams and cries of battle suddenly filled the air like a thick haze.

The soldiers at the line did whatever they could, fighting valiantly to try and keep the enemy outside the perimeter, but the sheer amount of bodies being thrown at them was just too much for their guns to handle. Before long the fight deteriorated into a vicious close-quarter brawl. A struggle of strength and wit to survive the night.


	13. Blazing Skies

**Chapter 14**

High above the intense ground battle, Eagle flight with Bingo in lead, closely followed by Storm, was patrolling the skies flying west. Mercer had finished his DRADIS scan for the umpteenth time, looking for absent enemies. Aside from the odd probing attack or pitiful interdiction flight, nothing really was happening in the sky. The ground seemed to be a different matter, explosions and long streams of tracer lighting up in the darkness, but from the sky it was impossible to tell who was who. Only that the battle was an intense one. However intense the battle may have been, he didn't see much of it beyond those bright highlights. He wasn't supporting them directly. That was Hawk-flight's job.

He got in the odd strafing run or Bomb drop, but that didn't involve much skill.

Mercer preferred fighter on fighter air battle any day of the week. That was where the boys were separated from the aces. But when things were relatively quiet, it was easy to forget the fear of death that comes with all-or-nothing deathmatches. At least there was more chivalry in the air than for the poor saps on the ground.

Rolling his bird a bit Mercer had a perfect view at the fierce-looking battle now waging at the creek bed below him. Those bastards had their hell cut out from them. It was hard to make sense of from above, and even harder to see how anything could be alive in the thickest fighting. The battle had deteriorated in what the colonials call a Cluster-Frack. Any form of battle lines were completely absent at this point for all he saw. Mercer counted himself lucky to be pilot as he looked at the chaos below.

Tearing his eyes away from the battle below he flipped his plane back over and looked to his right, spotting the dim white light of No3 and 4's exhaust, Jester and beside him Neda. To his left, about a mile in the distance he spotted Bingo quietly gliding through the air.

Looking down in his cockpit Mercer started his next scan, expecting to see nothing but ground and cloud clutter.

Yet again, nothing but static…. Or was it?

For a second there he thought he saw a contact, about twenty degrees to port low and at mid-range before it disappeared again. He adjusted his sensors and tried again.

Nothing…. Nothing but reflections of clouds and…. Wait…. This cannot be….

"Storm-Bingo, I've got multiple contacts bearing 238 for 70, angels 2. I've got a jammer here, please confirm."

"Bingo here, Confirmed contacts. Fence in gentlemen. Storm, contact Invictus. Maybe they've got a better picture."

"Copy." Mercer replied while engaging the Master Arm switch, activating his missiles. "Storm-Invictus. Contacts on the nose, bearing 238 for 70, Angels 2. Contacts unknown. Request picture update, Over."

"Invictus-Storm. Contacts Hostile. Large group, jamming. Observers report large group of small craft bearing down on the airfield at low altitude. Estimated amount 150+ aircraft. Alert-5 Vipers are under way. Second wave will follow."

Mercer switched back to his squadron channel. "You got that Bingo?"

"Copy that Storm. It'll be a few minutes before the Alert-5 craft 'll get here. Let's lock these suckers up. See if we can get them to rise and engage. Keep em at range and remember, our missiles don't have IFF so watch your shots!"

"Storm Copies"

"3 copy"

"4 Copies all" 

"Flight ready!" Bingo concluded. Looking out of his canopy he saw the other Eagle flights being vectored in to join the fight. "Ok boys, let's lock em up. Get ready to rumble."

"Sir, they are still out of effective range." Mercer replied.

"They don't know that. When we lock em up, it'll draw their attention. With a bit of skill and luck we can keep em occupied till the others arrive."

"Roger" Mercer replied in acknowledgement and the flight began to climb and accelerate, extending their missile range.

If the guys fighting below were to lookup they would see the fierce afterburners of dozens of vipers light up and fly in a south-western direction, forming a ragged combat spread formation. Though, with the bloody onslaught raging on the ground, no-one really bothered looking any higher than his gunsights.

Within seconds all vipers had hard-locked dozens of the incoming craft whose warning systems screamed out in electronic terror and rage. Thinking they already had missiles bearing down on them, the enemy warplanes scattered like a great black claw in the wind, burning hard to evade. Even though this didn't get rid of the chaos planes, it did reduce their closing speed and forced them to show their sides and tails towards the Colonial Vipers who took advantage of the situation, closing within effective missile range.

The first flight got tone first and launched their missiles into the furball before cutting the burners and cranking their planes, keeping weapons lock at the very edge of the DRADIS gimbals. The missile-motors burned hard for about two dozen seconds, pushing the missile towards high Mach speeds before burning out, leaving the missile in a supersonic glide. The first half of the flight the tracking-head followed its target illuminated by the powerful DRADIS array from its once host, before switching to its active sensor once in range. Making tiny movements with its control surfaces to correct for the prey's erratic attempts to escape death. With every split-second the missile screamed closer, the target getting brighter in its electronic mind, until it shot just over the canopy of its prey. The prey-pilot looked up in terror and rage to see the slender missile appear out of the darkness above him, before the proximity fuse detonated the expanding-rod warhead. The many fragments shredded the starboard engine and wing, continuing through the cockpit and destroying the pilot. The traitor Thunderbolt was all but ripped in two, the remnants tumbling down towards the planet like leafs in the wind.

Across the night sky erupted in many more explosions dotting the area. Many were killed, though some got lucky and managed to break the lock at the last moment, causing the missile to sail by and explode harmlessly in mid-air. If any on the ground had looked up, it would have appeared like a morbid fireworks display of a struggle between life and death.

The Colonials made good use of their initial advantage with their standoff weapons, taking the enemy out at a distance and extending to repeat the move. As the enemy warplanes got closer, the balance started to shift. Now within the range of the traitor Thunderbolt missiles, and soon within gun-range against insurmountable odds, Eagle flight realised they were in for the fight of their life.

Forced to break and evade an incoming hellstrike missile, Mercer found himself alone without a wingman. Bingo was flying not far ahead somewhere, but trying to find a single grey plane in a dark sky, lined by contrails was like looking for a needle in a stack of needles.

Looking at his warning-systems he found the tell-tale sign of the enemy auspex-signals within the gauge's inner circle, too frigging close, and closing fast.

"We've got a Thud within our inner circle boys!" he called out through his radio, franticly trying to lock him up. Just peeking over his front dash he saw shadowy silhouette paired with vibrating double burners flying past below his left. "Engaging!" he called while rolling his Viper over to engage. Pulling his plane hard and never letting his target out of his sight he fought against the G-forces that pushed him into his seat. The Traitor plane must have spotted him as he tried to escape, using his energy to climb hard, trying to evade with a Split-S. Hearing a sharp growling tone in his headset, Mercer squeezed off a heat-seeker, hoping for a quick kill. The missile burned hard and rose to meet his prey.

The Chaos pilot had anticipated the shot and pulled too hard for the missile to track.

Mercer cursed himself for his over-eagerness, repositioning himself in a lag-pursuit, closing slowly. After a few twists and turns he finally got himself in the perfect position for a gun-shot. A flick of his thumb called up "The Rose" and gave him an excellent deflection shot. He gave a quick burst and tore off the thunderbolt's wing and shredded his starboard engine, sending his enemy burning to the ground.

"Splash!"

His second kill within minutes, and sure as Holy Terra not his last.

Around him the rest of Eagle flight flew their planes to the edge of their envelope, and beyond whenever they could get away with it. Eagle 5, covered by his wingman, bounced two thunderbolts from above, gunning them down with their cannons. They swept away at high speed while their prey disintegrated in mid-air.

Eagle 8 fought with all his might to shake his pursuers to no avail. A burst of las-bolts cut his port wing away with a furious blast sending his plane in a unrecoverable flat-spin. Above the airfield itself two parachutes floated down, one of the men slumped in his harness.

The next wave was already upon them, and they weren't just fighters.

"Storm-Invictus. We are heavily engaged. Enemy attack craft are breaking through. Mission outcome doubtful… Invictus do you receive?"

It took extremely long moments for them to answer, or at least it felt that way…

"Invictus to all eagle units. Alert-5 craft on station on your six. Ark Imperial has sent two squadrons of Lightnings to assist. Watch for golden wing bands for ID." cracked through the radio, slightly distorted through the encoder.

"Roger that Invictus. Direct them through the flank. We focus here" replied the calm and composed voice of Bingo. How in the name of the emperor's golden piss-pot did he keep so annoyingly calm? Mercer thought from under his breath before turning after a duo of fighting planes, taking pot-shots at the thunderbolt in an effort to clear his squad mate's tail.

This thud pilot wasn't having any of it. He quickly went in burner and climbed hard, rolling over and dove down onto Mercer head on. In his Fury, or for that matter, in a thunderbolt he could have met the challenge. In the lightly armoured Viper that was the same as asking for a shot in the face so he rolled away fast, allowing the thunderbolt to overshoot and come in behind him, luring him in a turning fight. This was the fight where the Viper was superior.

All the Thud had to do was keep diving away and use its energy to extend for another fight. Instead it tried to turn with the small and nimble fighter. Bobbing and weaving mercer waited for the opportune moment, inching closer and closer into a rolling scissors. After half a minute Mercer had enough and bled his speed hard, pulling up high and punched his airbrakes letting the Thunderbolt overshoot and slide right into his gunsight.

A short burst was all it took to send his adversary burning to the ground.

He leveled out looking for his next target when his plane rocked by a sudden airblast. A grey-golden flash zoomed over his canopy guns blazing, soon followed by a dim explosion off his five o'clock low.

Looking over his shoulder he saw the burning wreck of a thunderbolt tumbling down, its frame torn apart by Lascannon fire. The foul bastard tried to sneak up on him! The mystery guardian pulling up and burning away, he never saw who or what exactly saved him, but he could take a good guess.

Looking up he saw a mass of small flares coming down from high above. As he looked several blazing red pillars of light arced down into the dark mass of enemy aircraft, scything through airframes and cockpits alike.

Mercer strained to inspect the newcomers, the bright light contrasting harshly with the dark blackness. "Golden wingtips, by the throne! They're Lightnings!" Mercer called into the radio. "Friendlies descending into the Furball!"

"Ventus leader to Eagle-one. We're on station. Heard you got a party going here." cracked through everyone's headset.

"Good of you to join Ventus. How about you come tango with this lot?"

"Thought you'd never ask. Ventus engaging!"

A large spread formation of short double-tailed fighters with forward-swept wings screamed down as one to join the fray, blasting away with their lascannons at anything that resembled chaos aircraft. Soon the already thunderous sky was filled with the blaze of the newcomer's fire. Red streaks accompanying the blossoming explosions of the night battle, lighting the sky as planes danced across the scene.

Panicked, the Chaos formation lost its cohesion completely. The Chaos claw physically repulsed by the violent entry of the Imperial fighters, Mercer having a front-row seat.

One Thunderbolt was torn in half by Lascannon fire, the lightning responsible barreling over onto another's tail and ripping the traitor aircraft's wing off. Mercer watched as another marked with the 'VI' insignia of the squadron chased down and tore open a straggler barely a couple of feet away from his Viper.

The loyalist fighters, after the initial clash, forming into an arrow-head and chasing after the traitor air group. They chased so closely many loyalist fighters were silhouetted against the afterburners of the retreating traitor Thunderbolts, the dead of night turned into violently bright frenzy by the routing advance of the lightnings of Ventus squadron.

Taking advantage of this sudden clash the Vipers quickly extended outside the furrball and started to regroup and consolidate their formation, preparing to re-engage.

Clawing for range and altitude mercer slammed his throttle in the afterburner and rose sharply, craning his neck around looking for the friendly formation. High above to his right he saw a handful of triple engined dots forming up and moving for position. To his left the furrball kept going, the lightnings taking the place of the extending Colonial fighters. In the dark of night, keeping up with what was going on was incredibly hard, the shimmering shapes of fighters highlighted sparingly by the red streaks of las-fire, blazing engine exhausts and explosions. But looking at the exchange of las-blasts and explosions he knew the fight wasn't going well. The Loyalist arrowhead had been broken up and enveloped, the uneven lighting revealing far more thunderbolts than lightnings in the great sprawling dog fight that had ignited once again.

Mercer turned on his radio "Bingo-Storm, Ventus is being torn up, suggest we return the favour and save their asses' it seemed Bingo did not need any more persuasion 'roger that Storm, turning to engage, Eagle flight prepare for gun-combat"

Within moments the entirety of Eagle flight had turned hard to get back into the fight, their contrails writing their movements in the sky, the odd pilots firing off a missile into the melee, terminating traitor pilots attempting to retaliate to the resurgent colonial force before the impact came. The Viper formation scythed into the disjointed sprawl of planes, cannon fire rending and tearing apart those Thunderbolts unfortunate enough to be in their way. Once again, the immense cloud of traitor craft found themselves bore into by a force of fighters,and once again they were forced to back away. But this time there was no pursuit, the remaining lightnings falling in with the colonial formation.

"Ventus leader to Eagle-one, your help is greatly appreciated, there are more traitors up than my intelligence would have had me believe…" Bingo didn't know whether or not that was true or just an excuse for poor judgment, but the numbers were certainly a worry.

"Yeah… and I'm not seeing many strike craft in that mass..." Bingo barely got that out before he noticed a strange movement in the edge of his peripheral vision, that followed by the scream of warnings in his cockpit "All fighters, prepare to engage! Bandits incoming, high!"

Arching down from above where several dozen Hell Talon fighters, part of the original invasion force deployed from orbit. The Thunderbolt cloud, as planned, turning around to re engage. The Vipers and lightings were caught between a Hammer and Anvil.

"All elements, fighting retreat! Keep them at arm's length!" Bingo ordered, far too little far too late, the first Talons raking the tops of Vipers and Lightnings before darting below the formation to arch upwards into belly sections as the Thunderbolts powered into range. The sheer aggressiveness and numbers of the Chaos air wings forced the furrball back further and further until it enveloped the entire air dome above the airfield, making Close Air Support all but impossible. Hawk flight forced to disengage or get caught in the aerial knife-fight where strikers definitely wouldn't want to be. Fight or stay, one thing is certain: It would be a long and hard night of intense fighting before dawn would come.


	14. Liberation

**Chapter 15**

The first light of dawn had set in over the battlefield, a grey haze becoming visible over the scored earth. Though the battle that had been fought all night had raged in all its intensity barely an hour ago, now everything had gone still. There were no shots, no artillery or explosions and no rumble and roar of jet engines overhead. Only the soft cries of the wounded soldiers could be heard down below. When the battle for the battalion's survival began, a couple of weeks earlier, they'd turned the basement into a makeshift infirmary. The few medical supplies that were left concentrated in the terminal. The original hospital building would be one of the first things to be bombed out, so no sense in using that thing any time soon.

First Lieutenant Heath was looking through his optics out over the battlefield. Empty, aside from the dozens of piles of dead soldiers, shell craters and bombed out vehicles. Nothing moving in any case. It was a strange contrast with the night, almost hard to believe that earlier tonight he and his squad were fighting for their lives in this ruined and bombed-out terminal. It was a damned miracle the bloody thing was still standing, or at least partially. He gave the optics back to the spotter at the rubbled window next to him and started on his rounds to check the men.

They were a bloody bunch of weary-eyed and rugged sorry bastards, hanging on by their fingernails, and hang on they did. Far more than he could have possibly expected when this shit-storm got started, they were far from the gleaming battalion that was once part of the crux of Pincus's defences.

He walked down the hall, past broken pillars and sandbagged MG and Heavy Bolter holes. Through the corner of his eyes about half a dozen of grunts were sleeping slumped against the wall behind them. This time he let them sleep for the moment. They didn't get any last night. Seemed only right they get a few minutes now. Not all of them though.

He looked down and kicked a green-drab heap which suddenly jumped back into form. "No sleeping on watch soldier!"

"Yes Sir! Sorry Sir!" and the green pile quickly grabbed its dirty optics and started peering out into the hazy darkness of early dawn. Heath kicked the second watchmen into gear as well. They may as well try and keep them both awake. Maybe they'll stay awake enough to actually spot anything before the shooting would start again. He would assign more rested men to the watch but he knew damn well he didn't have that luxury.

He turned the first corner and walked down the stairs. A weary young man with a too large helmet on his head nodded at him as a salute. Heath returned the gesture. He'd saved the kid earlier that week. Maybe more than once. He couldn't remember. It didn't matter anyway. That kid was alive and shooting and he had his respect. That was all that mattered. Walking down the stairs and turning right he continued the round when he heard steps behind him. Heath turned around to see a soldier with a dark red cross painted on his helmet walking up to him. Whenever a red cross was walking towards him, it was rarely a good sign or good news.

It wouldn't be this time for sure, going by his entire front uniform covered in blood, and it damn well wasn't his.

"Sir?"

"What is it Tollid?"

"We lost another 9 wounded men tonight. Another fifteen won't survive till the afternoon. About two dozen wounded are left, but stable. Some are asking to return to the line but can't hold a rifle if their life depended on it." the man answered while handing him chain with the dog-tags of the lost.

Heath took the rattling chain with a heavy heart. He had gone through many campaigns, but taking the butcher bill was never easy. His old CO told him that this was supposed to feel this way. If it didn't, you were already dead while walking. It was what separated the soldiers from the nobles among the officer class.

"If they want to return to the line they have my permission. Give them a side-arm, but keep them as ammo runners or other secondary tasks. Thanks Tollid."

The man nodded and walked away. Looking back Heath saw one of the new outsider soldiers handing small white packages away. Probably bandages by his guess.

Moving on he found more of the Dark-Grey outsiders moving through the building. Two were holding a crate of what seemed to be grenades. Probably came in through their so-called Raptors. They weren't as powerful as their Standard-Issue Frags but any frag is better than no frag.

One of the 'Grey's' as the men called them walked up to him. Judging by the dark-blue stripes on his shoulder he was one of their NCO's. Probably a sergeant or something like that. He'd already forgotten the man's name..

"Hello Sarge. How are your men holding up?" Heath didn't really care much, but for the sake of appearances he asked anyway.

"They're holding their own. We took some losses and wounded here and there but they are tough bastards. They'll hold. Can't imagine what you guys have gone through though."

"Well, if you didn't come when you did we'd have been razed to the ground yesterday. Did you pull the men back?"

"Yes. We've pulled back from the line and booby-trapped our holes. The wounded have been moved to the infirmary and the one still able to hold a gun have dug a secondary line about a hundred meters out front. It was a good call pulling back. After last nights battle we don't have enough guns left to hold the line" the sergeant replied.

The battle for the creekbed and strategic high ground had become a suicidal one, the losses of the night making such defences unsustainable. Heath was glad to have more hands in the terminal, but now knew he was right in the path of any future attacks.

"Any word on the air support?"

"Not much. Word is that a good part of the active planes are shot up. Just about all came back with holes. Don't know when they'll be back up."

"Damn. And the fleet?"

"They should be in orbit as we speak. Won't take long until the first landers start coming down I reckon. Can your boys hold out that long?"

"Do we have a choice?" Heath shrugged.

"In any case, Good luck to ya sir"

"You too sarge" Heath replied before both men returned to their duties.

"Camo….. Camo….." Lem called out while keeping his voice down. "Hey bub, you ok?"

The big soldier had been staring over the battlefield for quite a while now and said nothing. It took a moment for him to realise Lem was calling him. Slowly he turned his gaze away from the littered battlefield.

"Yeah" he answered slowly. "Yeah, I'm ok. I'd just…" he began.

"What?"

"I've served in the Colonial Marines a long time. In all my years I've never come across anything quite like this. We've had our own share of conflicts and I've seen more than my share of fracked up shit. But this would get very far up the list."

"Not at the top?"

"No…. Close, but not quite."

"If you want…."

Camo hesitated for a second. He wasn't sure if he should, but he told Lem anyway.

"About eight years ago back in the Colonies my unit of Marines was sent to a planet called Sagittaron. I was a Captain back then. The place was mostly agricultural, this place shares some similarities. Back then there were uprisings, the people were quite religious and not really in the mood for the Unification after the Articles for Colonisation were signed. Tensions were high for some time, and it being one of the poorest colonies didn't help either. In any case, the situation went out of hand and my unit was sent in to protect a bunch of civvies up in the hills, somewhere in the middle of Gods know where.

We fought there for weeks on end. I lost a lot of men there, partly because of my inexperience and stupidity. On patrol I led my men into the woods and ended up right in the middle of a crossfire. Lost about half of my men before I could break contact and fall back to the village we were supposed to protect."

The big soldier paused a moment, but became a bit uneasy with his hands. Clearly whatever came weighed heavy on him.

"When we came back the village was on fire. The smoke was so thick you could see it for miles. We drove the raiders away by the end of the day and reformed our perimeter. I could barely sleep that night. So instead of turning around and around pretending to rest, I stood up and walked through the wrecked town. Lots of dead-eyed civvies around…..

Anyway, I kept walking. I don't know how I ended up there, but I came up by a bridge crossing a ravine. There was a woman there, not much older than early 30's. She stood at the wrong side of the railing, staring into the mists below. I looked at her and she looked at me. I knew right at that moment what she was going to do. I could have stopped her, saved her life… Instead I turned around and walked back.

I heard the soft thump emerging from the ravine. It was only then that I realised that at that specific moment, that I could've saved a life instead of taking one. And I didn't. That part has never really left me."

Lem looked away. He didn't know what to answer, and quite frankly the idea of saving a suspected rebel life was entirely alien to him. In his eyes, a rebel is a rebel and should be put down by any means, not worth getting worked up about. But that he could not say to the man sharing his foxhole.

Then again, they both come from different worlds galaxies apart.

"I don't have that kind of stories…" Lem began. "Well I do, but different."

Camo sat down on an empty ammo box and put his rifle to the wall of the foxhole, looking at the young Imperial.

"Well, this one is pretty much at the top of the list. Not this particular battle exactly."

"What is it then?"

"Camo, have you ever seen your life-long friends and townsmen suddenly turn against each other? Not like a regular difference of opinion or rebellion, but transformed. Not unlike the bastards we gunned down out there."

Lem gestured towards the battlefield riddled with the corpses of rotting traitors.

"No. I can't say I have. Whatever is going on here, it is…. Was unheard of in the Twelve Colonies. The men I've fought were just men. Under different circumstances we might've been friends."

"Well, it happens more often than we'd like to admit. It began months ago, maybe even years. Tensions were rising for a little while now. Not really serious, civil unrest, that kind of crap. Easy enough to take care of. We were done in a matter of days cleaning the streets. One might've thought that was that…. We couldn't have been more wrong."

Lem turned back to Camo and sat down facing him.

"Those people you've known for years, some of them friends, turned against you in a most violent manner. Completely defiled. Bloated and disease ridden, walking meatbags armed to the teeth. They stormed minor outposts, railways, and airports. Some minor military installations, that kind of stuff. But it hampered our ability to move and coordinate. At first it seemed manageable, but before we knew it we had an entire invasion fleet hanging above our heads which burned everything to the ground from above and flooded the planet with crazed blood thirsty warriors. Legions of them. They didn't care what they shot at or who'd stomach was ripped open, soldier or not."

Lem paused at the weight and impact of the memories, the images burned into the back of his head and the screams clawing at the inside of his skull, but continued before Camo could interrupt him.

"Within days we were pushed back and on the run. It was a route. Most of the Guard defences just weren't prepared, or already weakened by insurrection. We tried to stand and hold, in cities and at strong points. Every time we tried, we failed, and were forced to retreat. That's how we got here. We are all that's left, this is our last stand."

"This may sound hollow, but at least you got a shot at fighting for your home. We never got that chance."

"True… for all the good that did us."

A soft voice from the neighbouring gun position called out: "I got movement!"

Along the horizon, the forest gave way to a long line of armoured vehicles and block formations of assault troopers, all coloured crimson and draped in the trophies of previous conquests. They rumbled towards their prey, slow and utterly unstoppable.

All along the line the men readied themselves for the final fight. Autocannons trained on the front rank of chaos attackers while MGs, Carbines and Autoguns appeared from ruined windows and reinforced openings.

The order to "Open Fire!" was barked out throughout the terminal, there were shouts and incensed rage and a tide of charging bodies and HE shells flew at the last guardians of Picus as the sky lit up with many arcing orange steaks...

The invasion was long under way before anyone on the ground knew about it. Massive 'Whale' strategic transports in orbit were busy loading their troop transports and vehicle landers. The staging zones within the immense vessels being a chaotic sprawl as service personnel and guardsmen rushed to their final positions or onto their assigned landers. Ark Imperial had already launched a large portion of its fighter fleet to support the invasion. The fighters forming in a vast, swirling protective screen sweeping away any air support the chaos forces may have called on while marauders targeted key airfields planet-wide. Within minutes the Vanguard forces were screaming through the stratosphere. Dozens of craft screeched with immense speed down towards the planet, their hulls ablaze by the friction of the atmosphere, leaving long orange streaks in the sky. The only indication the ground forces would have gotten would have been the loud sonic booms as they smashed through the sound barrier, but the signs were lost in the heat of battle.

The defenders, surprised but certainly not complaining, simply looked on in awe as the invasion commenced around them. In the space of less than a minute, about half a dozen Valkyries shot out to the LZ, halted in short order, dropped their storm-troops and then flew off as soon as they arrived. Other Valks flew around the LZ, blasting chaos positions wherever they could hit them. Plasma bolts and Hellstrike missiles ripping through meandering chaos armoured unit while the tight ranks of infantry were shredded in cross fire of Autocannons and Heavy bolters.

It is not in Khorne's nature to allow his followers to retreat, and this was no exception. Rather than dash for cover the Khornate forces spread out, looking to rip into the new assailants only to be reduced to shredded giblets and burning wrecks by the overwhelming fire. Once the first enemy advance was grinded to a bloody halt, larger landers descended upon the planet and dropped off several Leman Russ main battle tanks on the line.

With armor and reinforcements backing up the line, the chaos attacks were repulsed and Imperial units slowly started to reclaim lost territory as a wave of Guardsmen, Stormtroopers and Leman Russ tanks rout marched the chaos forces back through the devastated forest. All the while Valkyries and troop landers kept coming on and off, dropping fresh platoons to join the line. In the space of around half an hour, the Picus airfield was an endless sea of activity.

Hours later the the surviving PDF company was pulled off the line.

Captain Sorte being left with nothing to do but look at the smoke and craters around him as the Imperial war machine marched off to crush the traitor forces. The Colonial forces had pulled back as well and were engaged in helping the wounded survivors of Picus.

Sorte had a choice to make. He could either be folded in with an Imperial unit or take his surviving 100 something men and take a ride in a Raptor up to the Invictus, and join the Colonial Marines. Another endless cycle of murderous attrition that would inevitably destroy him and his forces or join an unknown force with unknown tech and way of fighting… It certainly wasn't an easy choice, but for Sorte there was only one option he could take.

And there he sat, in this strange bulky shuttle flying off the ground as the last man of his unit, silently wondering to himself what the Emperor had designed for his future.


	15. Unrest

_Authors note: Sorry this is coming to you so late. I took a holiday in Barcelona and, if anyone watches the news, you'll know why that holiday lasted a bit longer than planned. Still, the story continues, and I've stayed active in my PMs so nothing is lost. Without further delay, we proceed!_

 **Chapter 15**

In the weeks that followed the initial Picus assault, the Invictus Vipers still assisted in the odd precision ground strike. They could get in and out faster than most Imperial ground strike craft and the Guard command structure were keen to exploit the strategic asset as long as they could. But the Navy had other ideas, so other than that the Battlestar wasn't directly involved and was being prepared to move away. Soon after preparations started, they were given the name of their new AO. The stellar system of Orar, the capital system of the Orar sub-sector, to rally with the assembling Imperial Fleet for a counter offensive. Again, it would take some time to get there, but they were in no hurry, ships from all around the Gothic Sector were still coming in and one small carrier vessel would not be missed if she were delayed slightly.

The liberation fleet had arrived and resistance cells throughout the sub-sector where reactivating in preparation for their landing. Intelligence from Skargul telling them that they had actually beaten away the chaos invaders already, with the help of the patrolling battleships Intolerance and Holy Fire.

All Price cared was that it gave the Invictus plenty of time to get there, and Price gladly took the opportunity. He had about 150 Imperial souls aboard to integrate within the crew, all of which were former Picus PDF elements.

At first the two crews seemed to get along just fine. The Imperial troops were grateful for the help they were given, as without it not one of them would still be breathing.

Though some cracks were to form sooner or later. Too soon, if Price had his say.

 **25 days After Picus Liberation…..**

 **Crew mess AFT 09;31 AM**

"Hey Lieutenant! LT come have a seat!" One of the mixed uniform soldiers called through the mess hall as Lieutenant Heath walked by. Whenever the men had any time for their own, both the crew and pilots from Invictus and their new Imperial crewmates joined in the Recreation Room for their card games. Strangely enough that part of the integration went fine. Soldiers of all colours always liked to pass the time with games of chance.

"Dead man's chest? I didn't know you changed your style soldier." Heath grumbled as he sat down at the card table.

"Well, it sure as feth is now old man. And I am in it to win. Don't like it? Find another game."

"Finally, some straight talk around this place. Have you seen the line-up outside the head today? Ten grunts standing around, picking their noses waiting to take a shower."

"Whelp, before you lot came aboard this side of the ship was kinda empty… like a tomb."

"Wanna know what alone feels like?" Heath said, in a rumbling tone "I was the head of the watch for the walls of Olympia VII, the 2nd biggest city on that damned 'rock'. The Chaos horde ripped into the city like a firestorm, everyone died, but I LIVED. Try a week running underground. No food, barely drinkable water. Chased by mad men through the ruined husk of the transport network. Cut off from any damned support or civilisation. Try getting through that and then tell me you felt alone in this floating cage of people." Heath grunted, through gritted teeth at the memories pouring from him.

There were several tense moments after that, thick enough to be cut with a knife.

"It was a Frak on both sides.." A pilot named Thatch chimed in, trying to put in the good word of those sacrificed to save the Imperials on Picus. "It wasn't easy to come up with a plan to rescue your sorry butts. We could well have just left you down there to rot in hell."

"Yeah you guys had it rough all right." A nameless guardsman snorted "Hot meals, and showers…. Your flyboys didn't even take a shot before your lot jumped into orbit. Greenhorns, all of you."

To which Bingo replied: "We all made sacrifices, boy." The flight leader doing his best to contain himself at the insult directed at his men and quality of leadership.

"Is that right?" Sounded Heath again, in mock surprise. His face displaying clear signs of annoyance, eyes cold as an aquiline bird of prey. "While you guys were flying circles around each other, my guys were strapping Anti-Tank mines to their chests trying to stop the bastards from ripping our friends and families apart. So, forgive me if I don't go all sweet and soft over your 'sacrifices'. I doubt you know what the word means." Heath lowered his head over his drink "Not that it mattered… All is gone now…" The aged Lieutenant then shaking his head and arching back to down his glass.

Many of the disgruntled soldiers, especially the imperial ones, nodded after that little speech. The others just stared silently at him, not knowing what the hell they should make of this.

One of the Invictus marines tried to get things going again and poured his mates a new round of moonshine, refilling Heaths glass while he was at it. They had a still setup somewhere just for a bit of R&R. Price let it slide only because it was one of the few bits of recreation they had at the moment, as long as nobody got drunk.

"To us guys! Here's to knowing someone always has your ass covered." The Marine cheered.

Heath joined in with his own cup, but in a mocking and sarcastic manner before downing his drink. "Well the sentiment is good, but in my book trust is overrated."

"Frack you guys." Thatch sounded from his chair, turning from the group.

"What's your problem sonny?" Heath asked, keeping his mocking tone, this time of fake concern for the colonial.

"My problem is you LT. All of this 'them against us' bullshit. We're all on the same team here. Take your dirt out on the Chaos boys because we busted our asses to get you guys off that rock." Thatch snapped

"And you think that means anything?" Grunted one older soldier sitting next to Heath, Corporal Darrin, turning his cold dead eye towards him. The other having been taken out by the bayonet of a crazed cultist.

Darrin received an annoyed and angry look in return from the colonial.

"Everyone that lived on Picus was loyal to a point. It is... disturbing... to see how many of them walked over to the ruinous powers. At least we knew where we stood, eh Lieutenant?" Darrin grumbled sounding almost joyous towards the end, dark humour was common among the guard, downing another swig of moonshine.

"Don't kid yourself Darrin, and Thatch, or whatever your damned name is. You're all alone in this life. Nobody will weep when you pass, nobody will honour your name." Heath said, this time fixing the colonial square in his frozen gaze.

"Why don't you tell that to the guys that died getting you off that rock?" Major Burke spoke in his hoarse voice. He had been listening at the sidelines the entire time, remaining silent until he had finally heard enough. He was seriously disappointed in the Imperials to say the least, and he had had such hopes for their integration into the crew... The room went quiet, Heath turning his unfeeling eyes onto Burke, daring him to go further. He just shook his head and walked out.

 **25 days After Picus Liberation…..**

 **Commander Price, Corridor 7B… 11;39 AM**

Another day at the office for Price as he did his rounds throughout the ship. As expected, aside from the odd maintenance or repair issue, nothing of note was going on. Soon XO Howard joined the Commander in the corridors as he finished his rounds, on their way to the Commander's quarters.

"Morning John, got a moment?"

"Sure Howard, what's on your mind."

"Not much on the technical front. Status reports tell me the ship is just about finished with repairs. And most wounded are back on their feet, ready to rejoin the line."

"I heard the same thing. How are the new soldiers working with the crew?"

"That's the bit I wanted to talk with you about… It depends on how you look at it. At first, we were divine angels coming to the rescue. But the longer we have 'em here, the more I get the feeling they're beginning to see us as demons."

"How's that? I thought we pulled their asses out of that rock."

"We did, but that story isn't having the effect it used to have. Just now I've talked to Cpt. Sorte. Some of his men are weary of war, bitter and tired. They stayed focussed only because they were in action constantly. They didn't have any time to think. Now they're out of the heat, all of the crap they've seen and swallowed time and again is finally finding its way out."

"And we are the subject they spew their bitterness out at… I can't imagine what hell they faced down there, but that is something that needs to be contained. I've heard that moral is taking a hit. How serious is it?"

"Not serious for the moment. Nothing we can't handle, sir."

Finally Price reached his quarters and walked in, Colonel Howard not far behind.

"Oh, I've heard Lt. Heath has been spending a lot of time in the rec-room."

Howard sighed, rubbed his forehead and turned back. He didn't like having to report stuff like this. Stuff the ship's XO is supposed to handle before the commander would even get a hint of.

"Both him and Corporal Darrin, sir."

"Darrin? I know him. He's a tough guy. He lost his squad on Picus. I thought he got over that."

"Well, he and Heath have been holding court. Second guessing the rescue, bad-mouthing the guys that stayed up here. Suddenly if you weren't down there you can't be trusted or your voice don't matter."

"And people are listening…" Price sighed. He was afraid things like this started to happen.

"Indeed. Their word carries a lot of weight. They are the most Veteran soldiers aboard. And you are right. They are destroying moral."

"They both know better, Mark."

"Well, I don't think they care, sir." He paused for second before continuing, thinking how best to summarize his report

"Elevated tensions, grumpy grunts and perhaps a scrap in the mess hall. But if you ask me we are sitting on a powder keg. It is not just the combat stress. They are in a strange environment with different beliefs. This is going to crash sooner or later."

"Thanks Mark, I'll handle it. Report back to your duties."

Having said that, Commander John Price marched with utmost determination through the many halls of his battlestar.

 **Mess hall, 11;45 AM**

The many arguments flying about in the mess hall were for all to hear in the nearby halls. Clearly tensions have risen in the past few minutes. Some soldiers sat down trying to keep their head down while others stood up spewing their own arguments into the mix.

Just before Price entered he almost bumped into a clearly disgruntled and disappointed Burke. If he saw him like that, it rarely meant any good news. No easy approach here.

The noise in the mess went louder and louder, but once the stripes of Price's uniform came into view, just about all the voices in the room died. Many soldiers tried to look away while others fixed their gaze upon their commander. Price was furious and looked like a he was ready to spit fire. His face didn't tell it, but his eyes burned it into everyone's gaze. Many of the Imperials shrinking away, fearful for their lives.

As he marched towards the table Heath and Darrin were sitting, drinking their booze, the stomp of his boots ringing through the room. Heath looked up, poured a bit of booze in a cup and shoved it over.

"Hello there, Skipper. Have a drink." Though his words were inviting, his eyes were anything but. Staring coldly at the colonial commander. No fear, no respect.

Price didn't hesitate for a second, he knew immediately what measures he would have to take.

Price looked down at Darrin. "Give me your side-arm" He grunted.

"...What?" the surprised guardsman replied with genuine surprise, and a hint of fear in his remaining eye. What did this grey-clad man ask of him now? And what did it mean?

"Your side-arm…" Price replied without raising his voice.

Not knowing what the man wanted Darrin decided he'd better obey, not wanting to ire Price's wrath any further. His one remaining eyebrow raised, he slowly unholstered his pistol and put it on the table in front of price. It was a heavy calibre revolving auto-pistol, signature of the Picus PDF. While not as powerful as a bolt pistol, one round would still blow a man's head clean off. A bad feeling started creeping up on him, bile rising in his throat as the worst scenarios played out in Darin's head. Anticipating a swift death, Darin just watched Price, fearing what the man would do next.

Price reached down, grabbed the pistol and emptied it of all but one chambered round before casually dropping it back on the table with a bang.

Thoroughly confused now, Darin stayed silent, maybe he had a personal vendetta with Heath?

"Watch it! That thing is live!" Heath exclaimed, not liking the lack of gun safety at all. Too many guns have gone off by misuse like that, one particularly careless private under his command having his sidearm nearly take off his own leg while holstered without a safety.

"One of you, and I don't care who, is going to pick up that pistol, and shoot me." The commander grunted in a low voice. Though he did not speak loudly, his words rang through the room. Every pair of eyes present was fixed on the scene of the three men staring each other down.

Deathly silence followed. Some guardsmen edged away as discretely as they could, others just did their best not to lay eyes on the commander, Darin himself was staring open-mouthed at Price. Uncomprehending. The only one seemingly untouched being Heath. His eyes flared, daring Price onwards.

"You'd have to shoot me first", he retorted right back.

"Shut up. I didn't order you to talk. You've done enough of that already. I said to pick up that weapon and shoot."

"Or what? What authority do you have over me? Or any of these men!?" He gestured around, wildly, carefully making sure to maintain eye contact. Even in this state, Heath fully expected Price to kill him at any moment and give him release from his failures at Picus.

"You are on my ship and folded into my Marine Detail. That puts your commander directly under my command, which in turn means that you report to me. Do I make myself clear? If you have a problem with my leadership…." Price gestured towards the loaded pistol lying on the table.

A few excruciatingly long seconds past for all present. Nobody dared to move, not knowing what was about to happen. "What's the matter? No guts? You don't got the balls? You're all just fracking cowards!" his voice droned.

"Watch your tongue!" Heath practically screamed. He'd not been through hell for some... foreigner to call him a coward!

"Or what? You're going to turn the rest of my soldiers against each other? Poison the crew? You've already done that, Heath. Both of you have."

Darrin, lost in one last rip of pride at Heath's last stand looked up in defiance: "If you're looking for me to say sorry it isn't gonna happen..."

He barely managed to spit out those words before Price gripped him by his collar and without mercy threw him from his seat onto the deck. Darin staring up at Price in terror with his one good eye, mouth firmly closed.

"I took you in as a friend and ally. No more. You are malcontent, and a disease. I will not have that on my ship. So you have a simple choice. You can figure out how to wear those stripes again as a human officer, or you can find another place to live. But not on this ship. You're dismissed!" price turned away, no longer acknowledging the presence of the lone soldier.

In awe that he was still alive, Darrin quickly scrambled to his feet and got the hell out of the mess hall.

"Are you going to stomp me to the ground too?" Heath said to the Commander without looking at him.

"You're full of hatred. I know that has something to do with losing your men and I'm sorry for that.

But I've got to run a ship of people who have lost an awful lot. The last thing I need is a drunk Officer, sitting down here, sowing discontent and disobedience. So I ask you once again. You can either pick up that weapon and kill me. Or you can get your ass into your rack and not leave, until you can act like a man worthy of those stripes on your shoulder."

"You think I'm a coward?" Heath said, rising from his seat in front of Price, voice cold and challenging.

"You are sure acting like one. You have your orders…."

Every fibre of Heath's being screamed in protest, decades of drilling and experience telling him to obey his superior, but another declaring him a heretic for even considering to raise a weapon against another officer. Slowly he reached for the weapon, and raised it to aim at the commander, his voice for the first time failing to find purchase on the thick air.

Price just stared Heath right in the eyes as the large bore of the pistol stared him in the face. "Do it!"

That finally broke him, Heath dropped the pistol, it landing with a heavy clang on the floor. Heath lowering back into his chair and sinking his head into his hands.

The rest of the men present just held their collective breath, still staring at the scene that had just unfurled before them. The most veteran among them felled by the mere words of this god among men. Price slowly turned himself around to scan across the room. Not a single man he looked at daring to meet his gaze eye for eye. "Don't you people have work to do?" he grunted.

Within seconds the entire mess hall emptied, guardsmen scrambling over each other to reach their stations, shortly followed by Price strolling out after them, leaving Heath alone sitting in his chair to think about what just happened.

As the men flooded away, captain Sorte stood leaning against one of the steel walls outside the Mess. Price nodded to him "Captain."

"Commander." He replied politely. "Bloody impressive that was. Heath's a tough old nutter, always has been, not many commissars could even get to him…" he took a long pause and frowned.

"What's on your mind, captain?"

"Well… honestly, sir, with all due respect I'm amazed he didn't shoot you, how did you know that would work on Heath?" Sorte asked, tilting his head as he looked at Price questioningly.

"I didn't. I wanted him to think and realise what he was doing, and I mean really think."

Sorte stared for another long second before his eyes lit up with inspiration, the penny dropping at last. "Aaaah, turning his own stubborn by-the-book do-or-die loyalty against him. Very clever sir, very clever indeed. I'm not even sure death threats and torture would have achieved the same result."

It was Price's turn to give a questioning glance at the captain, but Sorte waved it off, "it's nothing, i'm just glad to see Heath coming back from his dark place. Now, I've got some men to drill, if you need me I'll be on the starboard hangar deck."

Price stared after him for another few moments as the Captain walked away, before simply shaking his head and walking the other way to the Bridge. Imperials where a strange bunch.


	16. Ambush

**Chapter 16**

It had been a week since Commander Price had put down Heath with a more than risky morale action. The regular Guardsmen now seemed to look on the commander with respect, and some degree of reverence, that any Imperial commander would demand. Heath himself had not been seen since. Sorte told him he was locked up in his private quarters, not coming out for anything. Heath's most loyal followers still avoided making eye contact with Price in the corridors, but he hardly cared so long as they weren't mutinous or causing any trouble. For now, immediate concern was on making sure Invictus and its crew was prepared for her next battle.

"Alright you craven magots, form up or I will shit-kick every ass that comes before my eyes!" A harsh, but distinctly feminine voice, lashed out.

The men and women assorted before the lieutenant jumped up and nervously shuffled into the block formation they had been instructed to, a vicious snarl appearing on the drill-mistress' face at the slow and awkward movement.

Price was inspecting the drills conducted in the starboard hangar pod, as a recommendation by Sorte to help enforce order in the aftermath of Heath's challenge to the commander's authority. The Imperial Lieutenant conducting the drill, when Price asked a passing guardsmen, was just called 'The Iron-Bellied Bitch'.

Price had snickered when he first heard her nickname, but he now saw how she earned that name. Her lungs certainly seemed to be made of brass as she barked her drill briefing to the quivering rabble arranged before her. Many didn't even seem to have uniforms. She was short and modestly built with short brown hair framing a face dominated by the scars of battle, giving the impression she'd seen her own fair share of battles, but certainly didn't give the almost ancient authority that her peer Heath let off.

"If you're wondering, that's Lieutenant Ryle. The people she's drilling are basically civilians we picked up as militia. Sorry we had to take them with us, if it was up to me I would have left them to 'assist' with the liberation."

The voice took Price by surprise, but he recognised it, and sure enough Sorte had appeared just behind him when he turned to its source. He rose an eyebrow at Sorte's comment, but dismissed it as concerns about military efficiency.

"As long as they don't get in the way of Invictus' functions, Capitan, I'm entirely happy to accommodate them. Besides, looking at the remaining numbers of your unit I'd say you could use all the recruits you could get. No offence…"

The Imperial just shrugged and took his place next to Price. "Have any of my soldiers caused you trouble since the Heath incident?" Sorte didn't look at Price when he asked the question, eyes fixed forwards on the block as they dispersed to assume a firing line. As though he already knew the answer he would get.

"None. Things have been silent and the others seem to be falling in line. With Heath not stirring things up, everything has gone pretty quiet." Price frowned as he thought of something he'd been burning to ask Sorte for a while, "but I still don't entirely understand why I need to be here and I don't just send Goradin to inspect these drills. I have my own duties."

Sorte grinned to himself, then turned to Price "That's exactly what any Imperial Commander would say, and it's the thing I've always wished was different, I've seen many good people turn to the ruinous powers due to the neglectful service of their commanders." Sorte paused as the firing line unloaded its first rounds at the makeshift targets before continuing

"You see, you being here means they know who they answer to, and they know that you can and will take a personal hand in any mutiny. Together with shutting down Heath, it should ensure this lot's loyalty through thick and thin. Fear and respect are powerful things."

Price nodded to the logic of his argument, and was about to respond to him when the familiar voice of Lieutenant Goradin summoned him over the intercom: "Commander to the bridge, Warp-Jump imminent." The young Imperial still called FTL jumps Warp-Jumps through reflex sometimes, to Price's mild annoyance.

"I hope we can keep them in line without resorting to intimidation and terror tactics too much." Price muttered just loud enough for the both of them to hear.

"Ah well, I suppose I must leave you. Continue the good work, Captain" Price quickly excused.

"Likewise commander." He responded simply, before turning back to the firing exercises.

"Jump 287 complete. Checking coordinates. Confirmed. Right where we're supposed to be. Drift just under 200K" The navigator called out from his station.

"Very well! Where is the 'Ark'?" Price called looking up at the quickly filling DRADIS display.

"She should be emerging any moment, Sir. Her warp engines aren't the most reliable." Goradin replied.

Price grumbled something unrecognisable and searched for the tell-tale icon indicating the massive Carrier out of instinct. He knew it wasn't there, but he was deeply uneasy about his situation. Help was too damn far away for his taste. They were supposed to stick real close together while En-Route to the Rendez-Vous at Orar. The main fleet was assembling there for a counteroffensive, but there was half a chaos fleet scattered about between them and their destination.

Knowing that there were many big and powerful fish out there ready to strike, it was decided that no ship should travel out there alone, like a child being accompanied by its big brother.

Even a few minutes could see the start and end of a battle, any competent captain knew that, and Ark Imperial could take a while longer than a few minutes to arrive. And Invictus was nowhere near well enough equipped to take on the larger capital ships lurking the depths of this strange new place, exactly the reason why Price did not like his odds alone in open space, not one bit. The asteroid and debris field floating about just above certainly didn't help matters for him. It felt... evil, somehow, or at least hiding it.

"Reduce our speed. We don't want to stray too far until 'Ark' catches up. Try to get some distance between us and that damned debris field while you're at it. What's the ETA on the FTL? When can we jump again?" The sooner the better if it was up to him.

The engineers were still scrambling around their stations, resetting control settings and performing post-jump procedures. The answer came soon enough, but wasn't to his liking either.

"The FTL spools are still cooling down, Sir. We'll have jump capability in twenty-five minutes."

Frack…. Twenty-five minutes without FTL, no emergency exit if things went south, which they had the tendency to go in this region of space.

Price's fears were well founded. In her short service within the Gothic Sector, the outsiders had gained quite the attention of the Ruinous powers. She was becoming quite the thorn in the side of the crazed admirals leading the Chaos Armada, and they didn't take kindly to unwanted thorns.

A piercing flash of brilliant light lanced down through the void and struck the Battlestar in her port hangerpod, 0.34 seconds later the piercing light had breached the ceiling of the hangar bay, steel and reinforcement beams melting away in seiring white heat as the structure of the ship shuddered and groaned under the sudden intensity of pressure and heat forced onto it. Another 0.03 seconds saw the beam do the same to the floor of the hangar bay, those inside still going about their daily duties, not given sufficient time to register an attack was happening. Then the decompression started. Vipers, munitions and personnel were suddenly torn up from wherever they stood and pulled viciously through the breaches in the hull, then the secondary explosions started; 0.5 seconds into the attack as secondary explosions from displaced warheads began detonating. After 3 seconds, the alarm finally went up.

The whole ship lurched violently to port by the savagery of the impact and sheer displaced mass in the hangar bay, untold numbers of crewmen around the ship were thrown to the ground or against walls by the sudden violence. Secondary explosions reverberating and shaking the very foundations of the battlestar. All the while, alert bells and buzzers started blaring and ringing their agonized warnings adding a deafening cacophony to the confusion and panic. The CIC was draped in red light, emanating from the many damage control panels and alerts that lined the inside of the CIC, showing the command crew the bleeding wound their vessel now boar.

"Sitrep!" Price called over the groaning of the stricken ship as he attempted to get back onto his feet.

Around the room other crew members did the same, bolting up to hurriedly scan their equipment in hopes some explanation would come forward and bring some salvation to the situation. Some, however, did not get up. Having domed their heads in on doorways or station equipment by the sudden movement, they had to be relieved with immediate effect.

"Hull breach in the port flight-pod mid section." Goradin replied while crawling to his feet. "Throne, the blast went straight through! That's a lance-strike if ever I saw one!"

"Energy buildup detected sir. We've got an enemy capital ship inbound from the asteroid field!" an operator called, right on que with goradin's statement.

Price slammed his fist down and cursed loudly. He knew something like this would happen! Exactly, what he had been afraid of since arrival in this damned new world. Flying around and stumbling into a fight they couldn't win: outclassed and outgunned.

"Mr Goradin, Call action stations, alert the damage control teams and get our birds up! I want everything that has wings and an engine flying and hurting the damn thing. Get all batteries spewing lead until the ammo runs dry! Go! Navigation, ahead flank speed!"

Deamus Goradin scrambled towards the squadron intercom, practically jumping over the XO's unconscious body along the way. Bumping your head wasn't just for lowly crewmembers it seemed.

Huge plasma plumes started flying out the massive 8 main engines, accelerating the massive warship and turning upwards to meet the oncoming menace. While the two hulks raced to meet each other, massive fire plumes trained behind the battlestar from the Flight-Pod hull breaches, scorching the armor black where it ran over the hull.

Seconds later, the bow batteries began their barrage, sending heavy caliber shells sailing towards their target.

Though the Invictus batteries were formidable weapons in the colonial fleet, they were not enough, simply never designed to face such a foe. The massive shells skipping and exploding in rippling patterns across the void shield of the larger ship. The cruiser utterly unfazed by the battlestar's feeble weapons.

Knowing they were going head to head with a Murder class cruiser greatly unnerved Goradin, but he also knew they would never win in a gunfight. So no matter how risky, trying to pass by the red menace in a head on charge for the cover of the asteroid field was the only right thing to do without a jump being ready. He once again finding himself admiring Price's decision making skills. They were dead men either way if they did or didn't try in his own view, although the lack of return fire from the prow lances perplexed him…

The answer as to why they had stopped firing would become apparent soon enough.

As the ships drifted alongside each other, massive panels opened up along the chaos vessels lower-broadside, revealing row upon row of small clawed assault pods. A cloud of pods launched themselves at the angled hull of the Colonial vessel, screaming through a hail of point defence fire to their target. Many were shot down by the tempest of fire from the close in defences, destroyed by debris or skipped harmlessly off the hull and into the void, but more than enough managed to latch on and began searing through the thick armored hull with melta charges.

"Boarding parties!" Goradin exclaimed. His imperial officer training kicked in and he immediately keyed into the ship's main intercom. He didn't even bother calling out to Price for permission. "All hands, prepare to repel boarders! All armsmen to the starboard sections, I repeat, all armsmen to starboard sections!".

 **Starboard hanger, a few minutes earlier**

The hangar bay was alive with activity, the imperial trainees had hurriedly cleared the area while the flight crews moved to scramble the vipers. Already the first of the viper squadrons was being loaded into it's launch tubes when suddenly, a loud clang could be heard on the outer hull. Very few noticed the first, but the rapid series of follow up clangs where certainly noticed. It was as if the hangar's outer wall was being struck by hundreds of hammers, the sound drowning out the noise of the busy hangar deck. Everything stopped as air-crews stared at the outside wall, not sure what to do or think in the situation they were in. Several moments of silence fell, time seeming to have halted the colonials and imperials in a freeze frame. Then the walls started glowing red, and time restarted.

Pilots and auxiliary crew rapidly began evacuating the hangar, shouting all manner of colourful curses and obsenties as they went. Lieutenant Ryle meanwhile started barking orders to the fresh imperials, attempting to organise them into rough combat groups as Goradin's voice called orders over the intercom.

Despite being little more than armed militia just weeks prior, they reacted surprisingly quickly, and began over-turning store-crates and empty missile-racks to make barricades: training autoguns and lasguns on the opposing wall.

"This is your time to prove your worth to the Imperium!" Ryle shouted over the deafening noise, "Every man, every bullet, every-damn-breath should be a lethal weapon ready to fell a thousand vessels of heresy!" She paused as she drew her power sword, to point at the opposing wall, now glowing white, "Each one of you is expected to sell their life dearly this day! For Picus! For the Imperium! For the Emperor!" The last call going up as the wall melted away and a hail of autogun, bolter and lasgun fire spewed forth "For the Emperor!" The line called in unison, as battle was joined with zealous fury and a thirst for vengeance.

 **Meanwhile in the messhall...**

"We're in business!" Captain MacTavish called out to the mix of Colonial and Imperial grunts sitting next to him, the captain being first to react to goradin's order. "Grab your guns, get on my ass and follow me!"

With a swift movement he cocked his rifle and scrambled out the ready room.

It didn't take long for others to follow suit. Imperial and colonial troops streaming out of the crew mess and down the corridors of the ship to where the fighting in the hangar bay raged. Sorte rushed forward passed the guardsmen and marines to MacTavish, determined he would be the first into the battle.

"Do you have any idea what we're running into?" MacTavish muttered to Sorte, noticing the fellow captain rushing to keep pase

"I know as much as you do pal. But our job is not ask, it is to act." Sorte responded, in a very grim and assertive voice.

With that stern response, MacTavish simply gave a quick nod, skidding round another corner towards the hangar. It was best not to talk to imperials when they got like this, he'd learned that lesson already…

 **Crew quarters, 5 minutes after initial boarding**

Heath groaned as he lay on his back, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling. He'd been in a deep, alcohol-induced sleep when the lance had torn through the Port hangar and thrown him from his bunk to the hard steel floor. He only now rose to awakeness. His head felt like a chain-axe had been put through it, a piercing pain throbbing in the back of his skull. He rose a hand to check he had no injury. Sure enough, there was nothing. Old age and alcohol had simply addled his mind.

"I've got to stop drinking..." he muttered to himself bitterly, disgusted by his own lack of fortitude.

Heath contemplated going back to sleep when a loud banging on his door persuaded him otherwise.

"Let me in!" a desperate voice from the other side called.

The old Guardsmen grumbled and gathered himself to his feet, calling back a response "What is it, son?"

"We got boarders! We need help out here! They are coming through th-" There was the sound of discharged weapon and the voice suddenly stopping. Heath's attitude immediately changed, dropping low and carefully approaching the door; unholstering his revolver and checking its ammo as he went.

Slowly, carefully, Heath opened the door by the smallest margin and peeked down the corridor. What he saw made his soul stir with hate. Down the corridor where the bodies of a couple colonials, not marines, but service personnel who worked the bar. They must have been dragged out of their quarters while they slept, as Heath hadn't heard anything prior to the alert from the lone survivor. Judging by their injuries, they had had their throats slit open by a knife. The knife that did it was apparent also: two figures were in the corridor, wearing cruel looking masks that didn't seem to serve a function beyond striking fear. One had a knife, and was rummaging through the clothing of one of the dead colonials for loot while the other held a lasgun and was stalking towards Heath, evidently not noticing the door had opened.

The mask apparently did not help with perception, or maybe he was just off his face on stimulants, Heath didn't care. He simply wanted him dead. Slowly he brought his revolver up, and put a heavy caliber round through the heretics skull. His partner bolted up at the sound, and fumbled with a crude-looking shotgun he'd had slung over his shoulder, but didn't get to even load the weapon before two rounds ripped through their torso and they fell to the ground in a pool of blood.

Heath sighed at the incompetence of his opponents, but walked over to inspect the body of his first victim. He was certainly dead, the bullet had blown the brains of the traitor right out the back of his head, and he happened to have some grenades and a lasgun he needed relieving of.

No sooner had he received his weapon upgrade than shouting and footsteps could be heard further down the corridor. Heath stalked forward to 'investigate' further...

 **Starboard hangar, a few minutes after initial boarding**

Ryle snarled in disgust as the more insane among the traitors changed her position, crude blades in hand and wildly inaccurate auto pistols in the other as they vaulted over the barricades, aiming to kill the leadership of the defence. Ryle neatly sidestepped the lunging swipe of the first attacker, disemboling them as she went, in one smooth motion she turned and decapitated another attempting to stab her from behind. Keeping her stride in motion she turned again to unload two rounds from her revolver into a third crazed assailant, before a hail of lasgun fire forced her to once again drop down onto her haunches. But at the very least, she had caused yet another wave of attackers to hesitate and slow their assault, giving her a moment to peer out and assess the situation.

It wasn't good. Heretics had breached the defences in several places and streamed out of the hangar and into the ship, only a few of her units still lived. As she watched one unit, two attempted to flee for one of the side entrances still not taken by the ruinous powers.

Filled with rage, she bellowed out to them "Stand your ground or, by the grace of the throne, I will end your lives!"

They either didn't hear, or didn't listen, and where cut down as they stood to flee.

"As is the fate of the coward and the traitor…" she mumbled to herself.

She looked over at a cowering Soldier haunched next to her, staring with terrified eyes at the incensed lieutenant.

"Do you want me to put a bullet in you, hun?" she cooed, in a voice of mock-empathy.

The young man was suddenly unable to find his voice and stammered helplessly, shaking his head furiously.

Ryle grabbed him and pulled him closer "Then get up there and shoot the bastards! Our lives depend on it!" letting go, the soldier scrambled to his feet and started firing wildly into the mob of traitors gathered in the hangar, Ryle slumping against the makeshift barricade wall, panting for breath. Would the torment never end...

Almost as if someone had heard Ryle as she finished her train of thought, a fresh volley of fire began tearing into the traitor ranks. Ryle, curious and faintly hopeful, rose to peer out over the battle again. MacTavish and Sorte had arrived, and brought most of Invctus' armed forces with them.

MacTavish and his band of soldiers had already killed scores of intruders before reaching the hangar. managing to mop up several assault groups before hitting the main boarding party, slamming directly into the flank of the gathered mob.

Whether the Iron Lady liked it or not, sitting there with her band of fresh 'Nuggets' had inadvertently kept the major force occupied, giving the Colonial captain the critical time to get into a half decent firing positions.

"Let em 'ave it boys!" MacTavish called before unleashing the fury of his own rifle into the masses. He barely got his first shot off before the others joined in. Imperial auto guns and lasguns chattering and hissing alongside the bursts and barks of colonial carbines.

The Colonials fought as efficiently as Sorte came to expect of them, dropping each opponent with short and surgically accurate bursts from their rifles. Though something else seemed to flash in the eyes of their captain, and every marine present. They were no longer cool and calm, as they had been on Picus. The men were radiating their own, almost primal, fury. Sorte had seen this look before, many times, in his own men as they fought for their homeworld. Now the MacTavish and his men were fighting for their own home, their own family, their right to exist in this strange new world, and every little thing they had left to fight for.

To say it was inspiring would be a gross understatement, and Sorte bellowed the battlecry "For Emperor and Imperium!", over the sounds of battle, to cheers and applause from the survivors among the barricades.

As ordinance ripped through the massed ranks, eviscerating and scoring bodies into charred red meat, it did not take long for a panicked frenzy to set in. As near-suicidally crazy and devoted to the dark powers as the assembled heretics may be, basic human instinct demanded they break out of the sudden kill-zone. And unfortunately for Ryle, she was the weakest link.

In a singular great surge, the mob moved to force its way past the defenders and into the ship. Stubborn determination and frothing animal-instinct driving the mad-men, as ever-more fell to the curtain of lead and lasbolts. Their writhing, running, crawling bodies carpeting the hangar deck; as the cacophony of slaughter reached a new climax.

Ryle only barely had time to fire off her few remaining rounds in her revolver before the wave of bodies hit her line. She swiped viciously with her sword, severing ankles and slitting torsos. The man who had been next to her cried out in pain as the boot of one heretic snapped his jaw with a wet pop, blood and broken teeth streaming from his mouth as he collapsed to the ground… but the wave didn't finish him, nor did she find herself being stabbed in the back. In fact, almost as suddenly as it began, the last of the heretic assault units had fled the violent scene. Leaving behind a fleshy carpet of grounding and screaming bodies.

"I see I've had to save your ass again, Ryle, is that the 3rd time now?" A voice shouted out from across the hangar. Ryle ground her teeth in irritation, it was captain Sorte's voice. Himself and McTavish walking over to meet the Lieutenant at the barricades.

"And where the hell were you this time?! Playing strip-poker with Heath?" She snapped back, to the poorly concealed amusement of McTavish and the red-faced embarrassment of her captain.

"A-anyway, what's the status of your units. That wasn't all the traitor bastards that got on the ship, and we will still have to clean up what got away." Sorte curtly requested, trying his best to recover from the barbed tongue of his subordinate.

Ryle just shrugged, and looked around at her battered units. "Without an actual report, and judging by the size of the hole they punched in my front line, I'd have to guess that at least half the recruits I had here are combat ineffective… but that is a guess, I haven't exactly been on a picnic here and don't have any solid numbers."

McTavish and Sorte nodded in unison.

"You've done a fine job defending the hangar, Ryle, for now we just need to hold until further orders. Get some rest while you can. With any luck you and your boys won't need to do much more fighting today." McTavish chipped in.

Ryle glances down at the man who had collapsed next to her, still shaking as he held his streaming red mouth "Let's hope, Captain, let's hope…"

 **Sorry this took so long, a whole lot happened between then and now, and this took a lot of editing before I was happy to release it. Hopefully it's satisfactory, I thought it might be a weird arc, but it makes sense and ties nicely into future possibilities...**


End file.
